


Beautiful Loser

by EvilEd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel and Gabriel are Siblings (Supernatural), Eventual Smut, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gabriel Raised Castiel, Gabriel Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, I'll add more tags as i go, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Stoner Castiel (Supernatural), Time Travel Fix-It, probably, sex work (mentioned), survival sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29278716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilEd/pseuds/EvilEd
Summary: It ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper. With a quiet declaration of love before Castiel is taken by the Empty trapped and alone for all eternity. Gabriel falls to his knees like he’s been gut-punched.‘…Why are you showing me this?’ Gabe asks, and Zach snickers with amusement.‘Because I wanted to,’ he says. ‘Because you can’t interfere.’Gabriel’s head snaps up, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye.Don’t interfere?Like hell he won’t.-Set immediately after Swan Song, Gabriel gets a glimpse into the future and decides to fix a few things, like the part where the Winchesters get his baby brother killed again and again, before Cas finally gets trapped in the empty. Meanwhile, as Gabe and Cas settle into their apple pie life, Dean is wrenched out of his by a brother who is decidedly not dead, but definitely a little off. For once, Dean doesn't have the answers....But maybe a newly human angel of the lord (or two) can help with that part.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 80





	1. Cult of Personality

**Author's Note:**

> So, my in-depth knowledge of plot points from season 6 onwards is a little shaky at times (After season 5 I started watching casually and only for Destiel, which I think is very sexy of me) so there may be a few inconsistencies. Fortunately, we won't be in canon-town for very long. Also, I'm very aware that Zachariah showing Gabe the future just to be petty is a suuuuper weak plot point, but after the season we just watched, are we really gonna split hairs over weak writing? I didn't think so.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Don’t interfere._

That is the first firm instruction Gabriel is given with regards to Castiel. It comes from Michael, and frankly, it’s less of an instruction and more of a _command_. It comes when Castiel is still a fledgling, entrusted into Gabriel’s care because _every_ angel has to take care of at least one fledgling at some point, and there is a kind of unspoken hope between God and the Archangels that _maybe_ this is exactly what Gabriel needs to gain a little perspective, take some responsibility.

…But nobody _really_ expected him to get attached.

*

Angels don’t need vessels in heaven, and their true forms are _far_ from pretty, but there’s just enough of a disgusting _sap_ in Gabriel for him to be able to look at the tiny fledgling that’s been entrusted into his care and see them as nothing short of adorable.

Because Castiel _is_ adorable, all clumsy and off kilter, a bundle of eyes and faces and _wings_ and too damn many limbs. Gabriel’s been kicked and punched, pulled and pushed, he’s had chubby baby fingers up his nose and in his eyes, and he’s been clotheslined by Castiel’s wings too many times to count, and he loves every second of it. He loves play wrestling with Cassie, loves grooming the dirt outta the kid’s feathers, loves answering any and all questions Castiel can throw at him which – as it turns out – is a _hell_ of a lot of questions. Castiel is stern faced and serious, absorbs information like a sponge, and takes to all that soldier of the Garrison training bullshit like a fish to water, and Gabriel is so, so _proud_ of the little squirt, more proud than he has any right to be, and certainly more proud than any other angel with a fledgling in their charge. Because Cassie _isn’t_ just another charge to Gabriel, and that’s half the problem. They wanted him to step up, sure, to become more responsible, to train this little foot soldier to the best of his ability. But nobody wanted him to _parent_ the little rugrat, or disappear for days on end with his tiny fledgling in tow, taking the kid on adventures across the galaxy, tickling his toes and making him laugh. Because Gabriel isn’t supposed to _feel_ things like that, not to such an extent, and no good can come of it as far as the other archangels are concerned. No good at all. _Maybe_ under different circumstances, with another, less important fledgling, they might’ve let things slide. Let Gabriel do whatever he wanted, let him drift around on earth like he’s done in previous millennia, just with the added benefit of a tiny angelic sidekick. But Castiel isn’t just _any_ fledgling. There’s a prophecy and a plan that even Gabriel isn’t privy to, and they must not deviate from what has been laid out, whether Gabriel likes it or not.

_Don’t interfere_.

But Gabriel _wants_ to. He looks at Naomi with disgust, with hatred, with rage. Castiel is just a _child_ , for fuck’s sake. He laughs and smiles and goofs off when he should be _focusing_ , and Gabriel can’t quite understand what the problem is. Naomi wants to fix Castiel, wipe him clean, give him a fresh start. Gabriel resents the implication that the kid’s broken to begin with. But any objections he might have are drowned out by Michael, by Raphael, by anyone and everyone else.

_Don’t interfere_.

So he doesn’t. And when Castiel comes back he is cold and distant, looks at Gabriel with polite indifference, like he doesn’t quite recognise the archangel but knows he’s supposed to. It hurts, but Gabriel takes it in his stride. Kidnaps the kid and bundles him off to a party somewhere in Greece. Talks to him, tries to get through to him, and after hours upon hours of gentle prodding, Gabriel finally manages to winkle out a smile. When Castiel smiles, small and a little uncertain, it feels like the sun is shining.

_Don’t interfere_.

But Gabriel does. They fall into a cycle of rinse and repeat, of Naomi’s brainwashing and Gabriel’s reprogramming, until Castiel is stuck walking a thin, fraying line between what he is and what he should be – only the line is so blurred and flimsy he can’t tell which is which. But it’s fine, it’s alright, and Gabriel figures if he persists and stays stubborn _eventually_ he will get what he wants. He usually does.

Except he doesn’t.

Instead, Castiel is sent on a mission that Gabriel has no knowledge of – an order to go and massacre all the firstborns in Egypt. It isn’t _supposed_ to be his job, that’s why Gabriel doesn’t see it coming, but he’s forced into the role at the very last minute just to piss Gabriel off, and when he comes back he’s… different. Broken. Upset and horrified and jumping at shadows and Gabriel can’t _stand_ it because he can’t fix it and he wants more than anything to just make it better.

_Don’t interfere_.

Gabriel does. He goes to Naomi, begs, pleads. Wipe Castiel’s memory, make him better, make him forget. And Naomi does, with a smug sense of satisfaction. Like she’s doing Gabriel a favour, indulging his whims, just this once. But the act of kindness and mercy comes with a footnote; a warning, quiet but stern.

_Don’t interfere_.

Gabriel doesn’t. He can’t, he won’t. Not if interfering means more punishment for Castiel.

So he doesn’t, and he doesn’t, not even when Castiel – who is most certainly no longer a fledgling but will always _be_ a fledgling in Gabriel’s eyes – is set to join his Garrison and plunge into hell to save the Righteous Man. The very idea has Gabriel balking, terrified and furious on his baby brother’s behalf. He’s not stupid, he’s an archangel for Christ’s sake, and God may be AWOL and Lucifer might be in hell, and his big brothers might be gearing up to burn half the planet in their stupid fucking pissing contest, but Gabriel can deal with all of that. He can, absolutely. Most definitely, he can, if he has to, if it means they can _eventually_ sort their shit out, and some kind of peace can be restored. But nobody _ever_ mentioned that Cassie would have such a big part to play; that he would be right in the firing line instead of safely hidden in the shadows, the way Gabriel always wanted him to be. The idea that Castiel might… that something might _happen_ to him, that he might either die on the way to hell, or worse, get roped into the big Winchester family soap opera that Gabriel has been watching with rolled eyes and bored sighs, well. That’s just too much. That’s the line in the sand, he knows. Because when he looks at Castiel, sees the imperceptible twinkle of nervousness in his baby brother’s otherwise stern and stoic expression, something inside him snaps. He entertains the idea (no, more than _entertains_ it, he fucking _plans_ it out from start to finish in a matter of seconds) of grabbing Castiel and making a run for it, of going into hiding on earth somewhere. Hell, he’ll cut out _both_ their graces if it keeps them safe. He’ll do it, absolutely. Without question.

And then Michael is beside him, Michael’s voice is in his head, fierce and cruel and brotherly all at once, and his command is simple.

_Don’t interfere_.

Gabriel looks at Castiel. Castiel looks back, and for fuck’s sake, he’s just a _child_. He’s a _child_ , and it _hurts_ , because Gabriel realises there isn’t anything he can do to help, not really. There is a prophecy, and everything is in place, and apparently to everybody else, the tiny fledgling that Gabriel once held in his arms is nothing more than a foot soldier – a bit of collateral damage. They’re still looking at each other, and all Gabriel can do is give the smallest, most imperceptible nods.

_Be safe. Come back home._

Castiel nods back, and then it’s on. The Garrison takes off on its forty-year voyage to hell, and Gabriel does the only thing he can think to do. He takes a leaf out of his old man’s playbook and goes AWOL.

*

Zachariah doesn’t like Gabriel. Never has, never will. He thinks Gabriel’s a spoiled brat, and he’s probably right. They butted heads a few times in heaven, mostly with regards to Castiel, because Gabriel’s shameful devotion to the fledgling he raised seems to ruffle everybody’s feathers the wrong way. Zachariah took it worse than most, probably because he didn’t have the same reluctant fondness for the archangel that Michael and Raphael (and even Naomi, to a much lesser extent) possessed. Which is why seeing him again is such a surprise. Gabriel kinda figured if anyone was gonna drop in on him, take the time to actually _search_ for him, it’d be someone a little less… hateful.

But, in the words of the Rolling Stones, you can’t always get what you want.

…But if you try sometimes…

Zachariah says he has something to show Gabriel, and Gabe knows it can’t be anything good. Zach’s shown him things before, not to be helpful, not to be kind, but purely because he’s had a vendetta against Gabe since time immemorial. Gabe doesn’t fit what an archangel should be, not in Zachariah’s eyes. It’s a petty grievance, but hey, heaven and hell were built on petty grievances. This is nothing new.

So Gabriel relents, lets himself be shown. He’s really not sure what he’s expecting to see, since Zach’s degree of _assholery_ knows no bounds. He knows it’ll be Castiel related somehow – it always fucking is. Might be some raw footage from Cassie’s latest brainwashing session (Zach _loves_ to show that off) or it might be another highlight reel from the poor kid’s stint in Egypt. Hell, for all Gabe knows it might be a close up shot of Cassie on his knees with Dean Winchester’s dick in his mouth. Zach’s shown him _that_ particular little scrap of visual stimuli more than once, and Gabe’s _pretty_ sure it’s not real, but at this point he’s a little too scared to ask.

But all that is small fry compared to what Zach _actually_ shows him. It’s long – like, eleven years long – and it’s vivid and bloody and raw and too crystal clear to be anything other than one hundred percent real. It’s Cassie’s life, or what’s left of it, laid out in brilliant technicolour. Castiel, fighting alongside the Winchesters. Befriending them, loving them, _dying_ for them more than once. It’s a decade long horror show, is what it is, and it ends in the most horrible way Gabriel could possibly think of, like Zach reached into the furthest depths of the archangel’s soul and drew out his worst and most absolute fears.

It ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper. With a quiet declaration of love before Castiel is taken by the Empty trapped and alone for all eternity. Gabriel falls to his knees like he’s been gut punched.

‘…Why are you showing me this?’ Gabe asks, and Zach snickers with amusement.

‘Because I wanted to,’ he says. ‘Because you can’t interfere.’

Gabriel’s head snaps up, and there’s a dangerous glint in his eye.

_Don’t interfere?_

Like hell he won’t. 

*

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting here. Could be hours. Could be minutes. He needs to get up, he knows that. Needs to bury Bobby. Needs to fix his face. Needs to… needs to do _something_ for Sam and Cas and Adam, although he hasn’t got a fucking _clue_ what.

The Impala’s right there behind him, but he can’t bring himself to get up and go to it. He stays exactly where he managed to crawl, on his knees, over what was once the pit. Part of him thinks he might just sink right through the floor and join his brothers in the fucking cage. That might not be a bad thing, but it’s also not what Sam would want.

Sam would want him to go back to Lisa and Ben. And he _will_ , he guesses. He’ll do it because he doesn’t have anything else to do, because he promised he would. Because it might make things hurt a little less.

Something in the air changes ever so slightly, and maybe a normal person wouldn’t have noticed, but Dean’s so damn far from normal at this point, so desperately hoping for a win, that he feels the shift and clings to it like a lifeline. He looks up, half expecting to see some random winged asshole come down to yell at him for fucking up the apocalypse, but a smaller part of him hopes for Cas. Because he’s selfish. Because he needs _something_ , because a few hours ago Cas was conked out in the back of the Impala and something in Dean’s chest stirred ever-so-slightly and he’s not quite sure what the feeling was (or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it) but he’d _like_ to get some time to figure it out.

But he’s so unused to getting what he wants, that seeing Cas actually _standing_ there still comes as a shock.

‘…Cas, you’re alive?’

Cas’s smile is minute, almost imperceptible. ‘I’m better than that.’

He touches Dean’s forehead gently, and the contact is like a static bolt of electricity that Dean _knows_ has absolutely nothing to do with Cas healing him, but he tells himself that’s all it is anyway. Suddenly he can see out of both eyes, his face doesn’t feel like a swollen chunk of meat, and the headache he’d been nursing is gone. He stands, a little unsteady, and looks at the angel he thought he’d lost.

…But something’s off. He’s not sure what – can’t properly articulate it, but this is… not _his_ Cas. And that’s enough to stave off any lingering thoughts of a tearful reunion, of driving off into the sunset with the angel riding shotgun, of figuring out all those feelings as they go. A different Cas – the Cas in the back of the Impala, maybe – might’ve wanted that. But this Cas does not. In fact, this Cas looks like he’s almost _daring_ Dean to ask, just so the angel can shoot him down. Whatever that thing was between them, it’s not there anymore, and in spite of everything Dean can’t quite understand why.

‘…Cas, are you God?’

‘That’s a nice compliment,’ Cas says, even though something on his face suggests that it isn’t, ‘But no. Although I do believe he brought me back.’

Cas turns away then, striding towards Bobby. Dean brings his hand up to his face, still reeling at the sudden _lack_ of blood and bruises and broken teeth.

‘New and improved,’ Cas continues, but it’s more of an under-the-breath mumble, directed at no one in particular. It’s dry and bitter in its delivery, and Dean decides he doesn’t like it, but when Cas kneels down and heals Bobby, all dry and bitter utterances are immediately forgiven. Dean can’t remember the last time he felt so grateful, but it’s gratitude with an ugly twinge, because Cas can do a lot of things, but he can’t bring Sammy back.

Cas seems to sense the thought, stiffens minutely as soon as Dean thinks it, but he doesn’t bring it up. He just nods at Bobby and then stands and walks back to the Impala, waiting until it’s time to leave.

‘What are you gonna do now?’ Dean asks, mostly to be polite. He _wants_ to care about Cas’s answer, but he finds he can’t quite manage. Dean can already tell that Cas came back different – that this Cas is not _new and improved_ at all, but somehow colder and further away. Probably, Dean suspects, because in the technical sense their work together is done. The apocalypse has been stopped, after all. Lucifer and Michael ( _Sam_ and _Adam_ ) are in the cage. Cas has no reason to stick around. Dean can’t exactly blame him.

‘Return to heaven, I suppose.’

Dean isn’t surprised, not really. Just annoyed. ‘Heaven?’

‘With Michael in the cage I’m sure it’s total anarchy up there.’

‘So what? You’re the new Sheriff in town?’

Cas smiles, ‘I like that. Yeah, I suppose I am.’

And Dean _wants_ to say something positive, wants to be… supportive? Because Cas is gonna do one hell of a bang up job up there, Dean knows, better than Michael did. But he’s still bitter and angry and hurting, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being abandoned, and the words are out before he can pull them back in.

‘Wow. God gives you a brand-new, shiny set of wings, and suddenly you're his bitch again.’

‘I don't know what God wants. I don't know if he'll even return. It just... seems like the right thing to do.’

‘Well, if you do see him, you tell him I'm coming for him next.’

Cas frowns, ‘You’re angry.’

‘That's an understatement.’

‘He helped. Maybe even more than we realise.’

‘That's easy for you to say. He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me, huh? Where's my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole!’ It’s not fair to take it out on Cas, of course it’s not, but he’s _there_ and Dean can’t help it. And by the time he realises what it _sounds_ like, realises that Cas probably thinks Dean would trade his life for Sam’s (…he probably wouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to think about it to much, either) it’s too late. And Cas looks… hurt.

‘…You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?’

Dean goes to answer – he’s not entirely sure _what_ the answer might be, but his mouth seems to have a mind of its own lately and he’s in no position to stop it – but when he looks, Cas is gone.

‘…Well, you really suck at goodbyes, you know that?’

*

When the angel lands, it’s back at the Stull Cemetery. It’s dark, and the temperature’s dropped considerably in just a few hours, and although the angel is wearing the face of Castiel he couldn’t look _less_ like Cas if he tried. He was never very good at imitating his kid brother – could never get the mannerisms quite right. He snaps his fingers and puts himself back to rights, and then it’s just Gabriel, standing alone in a field of corpses. He huffs a sigh, thinks of Dean in the Impala, and shakes his head.

_Asshole._

But there isn’t time for that now.

In a far corner of the graveyard, well out of sight and away from where the pit once was, the newly human Castiel is curled into a ball, with his newly human arms wrapped around his newly human knees. He’s groggy and sickly and he looks so _small_ that for a second Gabriel thinks he might cry at the sight of it, but he’s _alive_ , and that’s something. That’s a hell of a lot more than what he was a few hours ago.

So Gabriel crouches down and slings his brother’s arm over his shoulder, hoists him to his feet. Cas looks at him with glassy eyes, seeing but not quite _seeing_.

‘…Gabriel?’ He slurs.

‘Yeah, kiddo. It’s me. C’mon, let’s get you out of here.’

‘What… what happened? Where’s Dean? Sam?’

Gabriel swallows. He knows he’ll have to explain everything at some point, but Castiel is tired and Gabriel’s getting there, and a graveyard in the middle of the night is a great place to catch pneumonia. So he starts walking, dragging Castiel along with him, and says the only thing he can think of that will get the kid to shut up for a minute and cooperate.

‘Dean’s fine. He’s safe.’

Castiel relaxes a little, actually manages to move his feet. ‘The apocalypse?’

‘Stopped.’ Gabriel replies, in a tone that indicates the subject is closed. Castiel nods, grips onto Gabriel’s shoulders and huffs out a sigh.

‘Alright,’ he says.

And you know, Gabriel thinks it _will_ be. Maybe not yet, maybe not for a long time, but in the end, eventually, yeah. He thinks they’ll be alright. He thinks they’ll be just fine.


	2. Don't Lose My Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks so much for all the hits and kudos and bookmarks! It really means a lot. This chapter's kind of short, so I'm posting chapter three right away to make up for it - hope that's okay!

_When Castiel was very small, (well, small by angel standards, anyway) he and Gabriel used to disappear for long stretches of time, and Gabriel would take him on “Adventures” to see different constellations and planets, different corners of the universe, or even just to see what life was like on Earth. Castiel liked these adventures, although he knew perfectly well that they were Against the Rules, and could surely get them into a great deal of trouble if they were caught. And sometimes these adventures seemed dangerous, like when Gabriel took Castiel down to Earth to see the dinosaurs, and for a split second before a T-rex passed right through them Castiel felt sure it was going to eat them instead, and Gabriel had laughed at the suggestion not only because angels were essentially invincible, but also because Gabriel would never, ever let anything to happen to Castiel. Castiel knew that, and would have believed it even without Gabriel saying it all the time. It was one of the few great certainties in the whole of existence; God was good, the angels must bow down to the humans, and Gabriel will never let Castiel come to any harm. These were givens. Unspoken certainties. Gabriel was his brother, after all. His only friend. Castiel sometimes thought that Gabriel was possibly the only person who truly cared about him, except maybe for God. So if Gabriel said he would always be there to protect Castiel, then of course he always would be. Gabriel did not lie. Maybe to other people, other angels, but certainly not to him._

_And Castiel believed this right up until he was set to join the Garrison that would pull the Righteous Man from Hell. And part of him thought – almost assumed – that this was some sort of clerical error, that Gabriel would step in and correct it at the last second, because everyone knew that the journey was essentially a death sentence, that most if not all of the angels in the Garrison would not come back alive. And Gabriel would not put Castiel in that kind of situation. He simply_ wouldn’t _– it went against everything Castiel knew._

_…And then Gabriel did nothing. And Castiel_ had _nothing, and suddenly nothing made very much sense anymore. Because if Gabriel was willing to let him die, then something must be very, very wrong. Later, people would say that Castiel was corrupt from the moment he laid a hand on the Righteous Man’s shoulder, but Castiel disagrees. He thinks he was corrupt, destined to fall, when he looked into Gabriel’s eyes and realised that his brother was going to send him to die._

_*_

‘We should call Cas.’

And given how much he’s been _avoiding_ doing exactly that for the past year, Dean thinks he sounds pretty calm. Blasé, even. Not bad, considering the angel’s been occupying _most_ of his waking thoughts and a hell of a lot of his dreams ever since Sam threw himself into the pit. It feels like a bad breakup, frankly, but Dean isn’t about to be the needy girl in the equation. Cas has his angel mojo, he knows where Dean is. He could visit, if he wanted. He just hasn’t. And Dean, for his part, has tried very hard not to take it too personally.

Sam snorts, incredulous. ‘You’re kidding, right? Dean, I tried. It was the first and second and third thing I did, soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won’t answer the phone.’

_Well, at least it’s not just me._

‘…Well, let’s give it a shot. Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here.’

Sam rolls his eyes, ‘You’re an idiot.’

_I know._

‘Stay positive.’

‘Oh, I _am_ positive.’

Dean sighs, ‘…Come on, Cas. Don’t be a dick. We got ourselves a... plague-like situation down here, and... do you...do you copy?’

He opens his eyes, glanced around the room, and…

Nothing.

The look on Sam’s face is smug and insufferable, like rubbing salt into an open wound.

‘Like I said, the son of a bitch doesn’t answer his damn phone.’

Dean nods, rubs his face, and tries to shake off the feeling that something about Cas’s radio silence is deeply, _profoundly_ wrong.

‘Okay. So now what?’ 

*

Okay, so here’s the thing.

Sam wanted him to go back to Lisa and Ben, to pick up that apple pie life. And Dean _did_ , because Sam asked him to, and refusing the dying wish of his heroic, cage-dwelling baby brother would be a dick move even by Dean’s standards. So he did as he was told and settled into the suburbs, got a job and paid bills and went to neighbourhood cook outs and did all the boring, _all in the family_ bullshit he’s seen played out on TV. He even _enjoyed_ it.

But that doesn’t change the fact that every night, every goddamn night, he fell asleep beside Lisa and dreamed of Cas. Imagined what it would be like to take the angel’s face in his hands and kiss him stupid. How nice it would be to roll over every morning and see Cas staring back at him, all stubble and bed hair and a big dopey smile. These aren’t _new_ dreams per se, he’s been thinking about that shit ever since Zachariah showed him that twisted version of 2014. Ever since he looked into the eyes of a stoned, depressed Cas and realised this man would _die_ for him, would follow him on blind faith until the bitter end. Dean might not be great at reading emotions, but he’s not fucking stupid. Cas – that drugged up, sex addicted version of Cas, anyway – _loved_ him. Unconditionally and without hesitation. Dean isn’t used to that kind of unwavering devotion, isn’t sure he deserves it, but he’d like to try.

Of course it’s a pipe dream. Cas, this Cas – the _real_ Cas – wouldn’t want that. And Sam wouldn’t want that. So no matter how badly Dean _wants_ , or how frequently he wakes up in the middle of the night with Castiel’s name on the tip of his tongue, he stays quiet. Doesn’t pray. Tries not to think about Cas at all, if he can help it. (He can’t.)

And that’s fine, really, it is. Dean’s fine. Maybe not a hundred per cent happy, but he’s content, and that’s a hell of a lot more than he ever thought he’d get. So he keeps his head down, keeps on keeping on, and muddles through the best he can. He does a pretty good job of it, too, right up until Sam waltzes back into his life, Sam but _not Sam_ in all the ways that count, and then Dean’s praying to Cas and Cas won’t fucking _answer_ , and suddenly Dean isn’t anywhere near as content as he thought it was.

Suddenly it feels like someone’s punched straight through his chest and left him with a giant, gaping hole where his heart should be. And Dean doesn’t care for _that shit_ at all.

He just wishes he knew what to do about it.


	3. American Pie

_To Cas, this feels an awful lot like one of those dangerous adventures Gabriel used to take him on, but he can’t bring himself to hope for something like that. Can’t allow himself to think that maybe Gabriel cares after all. He’s hunched over in the passenger seat of a car he does not recognise, and Gabriel is in the driver’s seat beside him, cruising through the streets of Stull at an agonisingly slow place. It’s dark, and everything hurts. He wants to crawl into bed and sleep for a week._

_‘Hang in there, kiddo. We’ll find somewhere.’ Gabriel rubs at his face – he looks tired too – and huffs under his breath, ‘There’s gotta be a motel in this stupid fucking town, right?’_

_Cas grunts. It’s about the extent of his ability to communicate at present. He doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to be here. He wants to be in the back of the Impala, wants Dean in the driver’s seat instead of Gabriel, wants Led Zeppelin on the radio instead of the crackly talk show shuddering out the speakers of this unfamiliar vehicle. He_ wants _, so profoundly and deeply, more than he’s ever wanted before. It hurts. If Gabriel senses it, he doesn’t comment, but he does lean over and run his fingers through Cas’s hair, a gesture of affection that hasn’t passed between them in what feels like a very long time._

_‘You’re okay, squirt. I’m lookin’ out for you. I always take care of you, don’t I?’_

_‘Not always,’ Cas murmurs, and it’s a low blow, but he feels like he’s earned it. Gabriel sucks in a pained breath and pulls his arm back, but he doesn’t say anything else._

_They circle the town in silence for a while._

*

Things are not as they should be, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore. And it’s not _just_ that Sam’s been back topside for a year and didn’t say a fucking word, or that he’s acting… different ever since he came back. It’s not that his life with Lisa is starting to feel more and more like a sham now that Dean’s back in the game, and it’s not _even_ that Cas is still radio silent. It’s that unshakeable feeling that Cas’s radio silence is a bad sign. The nagging insistence that something is wrong.

It’s keeping Dean up at night, tossing and turning whether he’s on the road or home with Lisa or camped out in the back of the Impala. He hasn’t said anything to Sam, but he’s prayed a few more times since the first, more times than he’s willing to admit, and still nothing. It’s not like Cas, and Dean knows, he _knows_ he has no right to demand the angel come back now, after effectively ignoring the poor guy for a year, but _god damnit_ , Dean wouldn’t mind a fucking phone call. Just a sign – any sign – that Cas isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. And there’s nothing Dean can do about it, and that’s the worst part of all. He can’t exactly go angel hunting – doesn’t know where to look. And suggesting the idea to Sam just feels awkward and stupid, especially when Sam’s already acting so… off.

So Dean keeps hunting. Keeps going home to Lisa and Ben whenever he can. Keeps tossing and turning every night and reluctantly praying to Cas at least ten times a day, hoping that the answers will, eventually, come to him. He’s never been much of a waiter, doesn’t have a lot in the patience department, and that’s making him even more frustrated than he already was. But he waits anyway. Trusts (hopes) that Cas will come through in his own damn time. It’s not easy, but Dean thinks he can manage it. Manage waiting, for Cas.

The waiting gets a little harder after that whole vampire situation, especially after Lisa (understandably) breaks things off, and Dean’s left wondering if his brother maybe wants him dead. He doubles up on the angel prayers, wanting Cas but not really knowing what for, just knowing it will somehow ease a little of the loneliness that’s sitting heavy in his chest. He misses Cas, he knows, and it’s stupid and he hates himself for it, but he can’t bring himself to _stop_ it either. It’s worse now that he doesn’t have Lisa and Ben to distract him, worse when he’s forced to look at Sam and wonder just what the fuck _happened_ to him when he was in the cage, and worse still when he’s forced to acknowledge Samuel and the rest of the Campbells, and this weird little hunter family dynamic Sam seems to have going on. He doesn’t like it, any of it, and it leaves him feeling strangely lost. He calls Bobby a lot, more than he has in the past year, and that makes him feel guilty too because he _should_ have been calling Bobby the whole damn time, but chose to play house with Lisa and Ben instead. And Bobby’s great, of course. Listening to him talk about hunts and potential hunts, and even the more boring shit like what’s going on at the salvage yard, it’s nice. Comforting.

But it doesn’t fix anything.

And travelling with Sam after beating the shit out of the guy doesn’t fix anything either, but Dean doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of options. Sam might be some kind of heartless monster now, and Dean might hate him just a little bit, but they _are_ still brothers. Family. And there are still things that need hunting, people that need saving, a family business that needs running. And Dean still doesn’t have any of the answers about _anything_ , least of all what’s wrong with Sam, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna give up. Cas would know what to do, of course. Cas would take one look at Sam and magically have all the answers, and would either offer up the solution immediately or go out looking for it. Dean misses that. Misses having someone who can fix things. Who knows where to start.

In the end, of course, the answers – to Cas, to Sam, everything – come when Dean’s least expecting it, and in the most unlikely of places.

There’s a bookstore a few miles outside of Stull, Kansas (the _last_ place Dean _ever_ wanted to go back to) that’s gained something of a reputation amongst hunters in the past year or so. Nothing particularly unusual about it (unless you count the intricate devil’s trap painted on the ceiling, of course) but the boys who work there are hunters by trade, and also happen to be walking encyclopedias of all things supernatural, particularly when it comes to heaven and hell. It’s probably a dead end, Dean figures, and they probably won’t be able to do anything for Sam, but then again, maybe they will. And it’s not as if they’ve got anything else to go on, anyway. And although he doesn’t say anything to Sam, he can’t help but think that maybe… _maybe_ , these guys might have something on Cas, too.

So they roll in around midday, Dean in the driver’s seat and Sam stretched out in the back, and pull up at a storefront just off the main drag. Again, it’s nondescript. There are piles of books on tables outside, and piles of books behind the glass window. The shop’s a pale yellow, paint flecking off the walls, and the sun-bleached sign above the door says _Bound To Please_ in big cursive letters. The sign _on_ the door says _open_ , and that’s good enough for Dean. He steps out of the car and tells Sammy to stay put, half-expecting his little brother to object and insist he be allowed in. The kid loves books, always has, and ever since he was about four or five his eyes would get as big as saucers at the mere _mention_ of a bookshop. This Sam only grunts, and continues to lie in the backseat with his arm draped over his eyes. Sam hadn’t wanted to come at all. Saw it as a waste of time, especially when there was a lead in San Francisco that he thinks they should be chasing up. Frankly, Dean doesn’t give a _shit_ what this Sam thinks. He just wants the _old_ Sam back.

He walks up to the front door with his hands in his pockets, pausing to flick through the Vonnegut paperbacks stacked on the table by the window, and steps inside with a weird feeling rattling around in the back of his head. It feels a little too much like optimism, like the sudden certainty that this place will have what he needs, and he doesn’t like it at all. That feeling’s never led him to anything good before.

When he opened the door, a bell rang out, and now some guy from an undetermined location is calling to him, telling him to hang on a sec. Dean hovers in the entranceway, hopping from foot to foot. He looks up and smirks at the devil’s trap, which is about a shade darker than the ceiling’s paintwork and even more intricate than he’d imagined, painstakingly mapped out with an almost inhuman level of accuracy. It certainly puts Bobby’s house to shame.

Someone – presumably the same guy, just from a much closer distance – calls out again, and Dean swears the voice sounds familiar.

‘Sorry man, with you in a sec. Just gotta stack these boxes or the boss’ll kill me.’

Dean shrugs, then remembers the guy can’t see him, ‘No problem.’

There’s a thud, then a larger thud, and the guy swears under his breath.

‘Ah, shit, it’s fine. Cassie can clean it up later.’

The mere mention of the name hits Dean in the chest and makes him ache in all sorts of unforeseen ways. He chews on his bottom lip, still waiting in the entranceway, and wills himself not to cry in front of this random hunter at a bookshop in Kansas.

‘So,’ the guy says, his voice growing ever closer as he wends his way through a veritable maze of bookshelves, ‘What can I do ya for?’

‘I was hoping you might be able to gimme a hand with this case I’m working,’ Dean says, and hey, it’s mostly true. Whatever that _thing_ is out in the car, it might as well be a case. It’s sure as hell not his brother.

He finishes speaking just as the mystery guy rounds the corner, and when the two come face to face time seems to stand still for a moment. Neither one of them seems to believe what they’re seeing.

It’s _him_. Sure, his hair’s longer and his clothes are… awful. Some kind of white button up rolled to the elbows and a pair of… are those _tie_ _dyed_ jeans? And there are tattoos on his forearms and what _looks_ like a fucking earring in his ear, but it’s him. Definitely.

Gabriel.

And it’s Gabriel that speaks first, too, clearing his throat with an uneasy cough and wringing his hands together.

‘Shit.’ He says.

Dean thinks it’s kind of an understatement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay we finally get to see Gabriel! I love him waaaaaay too much, so hopefully my characterisation isn't too OOC. Always happy for some constructive criticism if it is. Thanks so much guys!


	4. Foolin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks, it really means a lot! Only a short one this time, but I'm gonna leave it as a cliff hanger. You'll see why. Also, TW for mentions of Substance Abuse (But would it really be Supernatural WITHOUT substance abuse?) mainly the good ol' whacky tobaccy. Enjoy!

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Dean strides forward, threatening to close the distance between them, and Gabriel backs up with his hands out in surrender. He retreats to the far end of the room, behind an old desk _covered_ in books, and offers up an uneasy smile.

‘…I work here?’ he says.

‘Why?’

‘…To pay rent?’ Gabriel’s still backing up, and that’s good because Dean’s still striding forward until only the desk is separating them, and Dean thinks he might just _flip_ the fucking desk if Gabriel gives him one more smartass answer. Gabriel senses his unease, and his hands come up a little higher, almost as if he’s protecting himself.

‘Easy there, big guy. I’m not here to mess with you.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I _told_ you, I work here. I’ve worked here for the past year or so. I live in the apartment upstairs.’

‘ _Why?_ ’ Dean persists, slamming his hands on the surface of the desk. Several books clatter to the floor. Gabriel looks flustered, helpless.

‘I don’t know how to answer that! I got a job to pay the bills! It’s what _normal_ people do.’

‘And what the hell are you doing playing _normal_ , huh? Wh-what are you, working a cover story while you fuck over some douchebag for cheating on his wife or something?’

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow, ‘What do you care?’

Dean’s about to say that he doesn’t, because he _doesn’t_ , he just isn’t in the right mindset to deal with some trickster bullshit today, when another thought occurs to him instead.

‘Do you know where Cas is?’

For a brief second, Gabriel’s face flickers with distress, and then it’s all back to cocky smirks and raised eyebrows.

‘No. Why would I?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t you guys have that angel radio bullshit? Can’t you like, hone in on his angel mojo or something?’

‘Do I strike you as the radio listening kind?’ Gabriel asks, despite the battered old radio balanced precariously on a pile of books mere inches from his elbow. ‘No, I don’t know where Castiel is, alright? I haven’t seen him since I zapped you into TV land.’

Dean goes to argue, to push the subject further, but something occurs to him instead. His breath hitches for a second, heart beating in his chest as he tries to get his thoughts together. What had Gabriel said, just minutes ago, when he was stacking those boxes?

_Ah, shit, it’s fine. Cassie can clean it up later._

Dean smirks, tries to reign it in before it becomes a full blown grin and tells himself _not to get his damn hopes up_ , but he can’t help it. They’re already up.

‘Oh yeah?’ he says, and then nods in the direction of the boxes, ‘Then who’s the _Cassie_ that’s gonna clean up later?’

Dean half expects Gabriel to disappear into thin air – either that or zap him into some fucked up reality where he has to watch Dr Sexy get off with a receptionist or recite lines from an STD commercial forever. What he _doesn’t_ expect, however, is for Gabriel to make a weird, pained noise in the back of his throat ( _sorta sounds like a chicken being strangled,_ Dean thinks) and make a run for the door. And because Dean isn’t expecting it, Gabriel actually manages to get outside, and is halfway down the sidewalk before Dean manages to catch up with him. Gabriel chances a glance over his shoulder, face contorted into a pained scowl.

‘Quit following me!’ He snaps, and immediately picks up the pace until he’s fucking _powerwalking_ down the goddamn street, and Dean has to break into a jog to keep up.

‘Look man, just tell me where Cas is and I’ll go.’

‘No!’ Gabriel says it with such panicked insistence that it’s almost comical, and Dean knows they probably look fucking ridiculous rushing down the shopfront like this, but he can’t bring himself to stop it either.

They come to the end of the row of shops and Gabriel rounds the corner, disappearing down a side alley. He trips over a garbage can and a bag of trash bursts open, spraying him with a foul-smelling moisture that Dean doesn’t wanna think about. He’s seen some gross shit in his time, but trashbag juice never gets _less_ nasty.

‘Son of a bitch!’ Gabriel falters briefly, staggering as he regains his balance, then makes for a rickety staircase at the far end of the alley. Dean looks up and sees that it leads to a shabby looking front door – presumably to the upstairs apartment Gabe mentioned. Great – dude’s just boxed himself in.

And then Gabe is sailing up the stairs and rummaging for a set of keys, and even though Dean is right on his tail he still doesn’t expect it when Gabe manages to wrench the door open and immediately slam it in Dean’s face. Dean slams his fist against the door and winces involuntarily when it shudders against the frame. A couple good kicks and it’ll break right down. Dean doesn’t want it to come to that, but he’ll do it if he has to.

‘Come on, Gabe! I know you know where he is!’

Gabriel opens the door ever so slightly, his face marred by the deadbolt chain, and shakes his head.

‘You can’t come in, man. I don’t know shit, I swear.’

‘Look, I just wanna know that he’s alright – ’

‘Okay, he’s alright. There – you happy?’

‘So you _do_ know where he is?’

‘No!’

‘Lemme in.’

‘I said no, Dean-o. Don’t make me call the cops on you.’

‘Oh, what? The fucking archangel Gabriel’s gonna call the cops? Why don’t you just zap outta here and save yourself the trouble?’

‘Because I can’t – because I shouldn’t have to! This is my goddamn house!’

Gabriel goes to slam the door again, but Dean’s quick enough to get his foot in the way. With one hard shove, the rusty deadbolt snaps and the door flies open, sending Gabe flying with it.

The apartment is everything and nothing like Dean would have expected. The kitchen is only a few feet wide, and the propulsive force that sends him into the apartment carries him _straight through_ the archway and into the living room, which has been unceremoniously plastered with every kind of poster. There are movie posters and comic book posters, big glossy prints of Fleetwood Mac and James Dean, and scrappy pictures of Dio and Black Sabbath ripped out of magazines. The wall underneath it (where it’s visible) is an obnoxious shade of purple. The carpet is orange, 70’s shag, and the battered leather couch looks like it was cribbed from the set of a bad porno. The TV has _rabbit ears_ , for fuck’s sake, and is stacked on a pile of sagging cartons with things like _BOOKS_ and _CASSIE’S SHIT_ scrawled on the side in magic marker. The coffee table is one of those ugly square numbers, (70’s again, Jesus Christ, it really _is_ like the set of a bad porno in here) heavy dark wood marred with scratches and cigarette burns, littered with ashtrays and bags of what _looks_ like pot, and _more_ fucking books because clearly Gabe is some kind of book hoarder and Dean feels like he’s trapped in some kind of weird, uncanny valley alternate reality, because what the _fuck_ is the archangel Gabriel doing, living in apartment above a bookshop in fucking _Stull_?

‘Nice place,’ Dean quips, and for a second it looks like Gabe might actually be _offended_ at the underlying insinuation, but then his face is back to that same blank and unreadable expression of contempt.

‘ _Thank you_.’ He says, a little tersely.

‘So.’ Dean claps his hands together, ‘Where’s Cas?’

‘I told you, _I don’t know_.’

‘He’s not answering my prayers.’

‘Good for him.’

‘This isn’t funny, Gabe. I _need_ his help.’

‘Well, bully for you.’ Gabe folds his arms over his chest with a huff. ‘But I still don’t know where he is.’

It’s a fucking lie, and Dean knows it – he can _see_ the box marked CASSIE’S SHIT from _here_ for fuck’s sake – but he figures he’ll play along anyway. Gabe might be playing house here, but he _is_ still an archangel, and beating the shit out of him for information seems like a bad idea, even by Dean’s standards.

‘But you can find him, right? Track him down with your angel mojo?’

‘If I wanted to,’ Gabe concedes, ‘But I don’t. If Castiel doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s his business. Nothing to do with me.’

Dean _wants_ to start throwing punches. Wants to pick up the ugly thrift store lamp on the table by the archway and throw it across the fucking room. His face is hot and red with anger, fists clenched at his sides, and he’s just starting to entertain the idea of maybe roughing Gabe up just a little, archangel or no, when he hears footsteps coming down the hall and stops dead in his tracks.

‘Gabe, have you seen my lighter?’

And God, is that ever a sight for sore eyes.

Castiel saunters into the living room in boxer shorts and a tie dyed t-shirt, his hair (longer than Dean remembers) stuck up in every direction. He has an unlit joint hanging from his chapped lips, and there are Enochian warding tattoos printed all over his arms. He _looks_ like a stoner, like he might just be finishing up a degree in philosophy or English lit, or he’s about to stick out his thumb and hitchhike across the country trying to find himself. He looks everything and nothing like the deranged version of himself from 2014 – a dirty hippie with an aversion to violence that would, under normal circumstances, force Dean to roll his eyes in exasperated disdain. Instead, Dean feels himself go just a little weak in the knees.

It is still _Cas_ , after all, and Dean has missed him. And Dean would have to be fucking _blind_ not to acknowledge that Cas looks good. No, good is an understatement. Cas looks _hot_.

Dean swallows, and for a second he thinks he might not be able to speak. Cas meets his eyes and stares back, looking just as surprised and bewildered as Dean feels, blue eyes twinkling despite the bloodshot haze.

‘…Cas?’ Dean manages, but his voice is pathetic and hoarse and so fucking _needy_ , and his cheeks flush with embarrassment as soon as the words are out of his mouth. But Cas just smiles this beautiful, warm, _genuine_ smile, like he’s been waiting his whole life for Dean to stroll into his apartment and turn his world upside down. Maybe he has.

Because when Cas speaks, his voice is filled with so much more confidence and contentment than Dean’s is, and that makes everything so much worse and so much better all at the same time.

He takes the joint out of his mouth, runs his tongue over his lips, and the smile gets even wider.

‘Hello, Dean.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incidentally, the archangel Gabriel legging it down the street with Dean in pursuit is quite possibly the funniest thing I've ever written, at least as far as I'm concerned. Also, you might have noticed that I'm a music nerd, and most of the chapter titles are cribbed from mullet rock classics. At some point I might put a playlist of them altogether. 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @theevilesteviled, if you're so inclined. I'm nice!


	5. Beautiful Loser (Reprise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy DeanCas Wedding, fellow clowns! :') We earned this.

_‘Why are you doing this?’ Cas asks. They’re tucked away in a motel a little ways away from Stull, and Cas’s resurrection has taken a lot out of them both. He’s covered in cuts and scrapes and bruises that Gabriel didn’t have the strength to heal after literally bringing his kid brother back from the dead, so Gabe’s patching him up with disinfectant and dinosaur band-aids from the drug store across the street, fussing over Castiel with thinly veiled concern that borders on panic._

_Gabriel slaps a band-aid over the cut on Castiel’s forehead, tongue clenched between his teeth in concentration as he smooths out the edges._

_‘Because you’re my brother. I look after you – it’s what I do.’_

_Cas doesn’t say anything – doesn’t have to. The look on his face is enough. After all they’ve been through the past couple years, the immeasurable strain on their previously unbreakable sibling bond, Gabe can’t blame him. He goes back to cleaning the scrapes on Cas’s cheek instead._

_‘…I’m sorry,’ he says, after a long and uncomfortable silence, ‘I said I’d protect you and I didn’t. I should have – I should have done more.’_

_‘…You had orders – ’_

_‘Doesn’t matter. You come first, squirt. Always have, always will, from the second they put you in my arms and you stuck your little baby fist in my eye.’_

_Cas snorts, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips. Cas is… different, now. More relaxed, a little less serious, a little more willing to bend the rules. Gabe knows it’s the Winchesters’ doing, and against his better judgement he thanks them for it. Cassie always needed to loosen up just a little. And then Gabriel forces himself to remember, to look at the path Cas had laid before him – the future that Zachariah showed him – and any gratitude he had towards the Winchester brothers fizzles out. Sure, okay, they loosened Cas up a little. But in a decade’s time, they also get him killed. And Gabe can’t have that. Not on his watch. If free will is the way to do things now, great. That’s all fine and dandy as far as Gabriel’s concerned – he’s the king of free will, and Cassie’s a testament to that. But Cassie can explore his newfound independence as far away from the Winchester boys as possible, thank you very much. Gabriel can take a lot of shit – he’s great at taking shit, it’s practically his hobby – but he can’t walk around knowing that Cas is going to die to save Dean Winchester (again, and again, and again) and not to anything to stop it. You can scorch the earth, you can send Michael and Lucifer to the pit, you can take away his father and force him to hide away on earth under the face of a Norse trickster god. But you can’t send Gabriel’s kid brother to the empty and expect him to take it lying down. No fucking way._

_He unwraps another band-aid and covers the scrapes on Cas’s cheek with a wry smile._

_‘Good as new,’ he says. Cas only shrugs._

_‘…I’m human now, Gabriel. I don’t… I’m not much good to anyone, like this.’_

_And Gabriel’s not having that – no way. He tilts Castiel’s chin up, forces them eye to eye._

_‘You’re my brother,’ he says, ‘and I’m happy to have you with me in any form I can get. Human or otherwise.’_

_Castiel’s eyes are so uncertain, so timid, that Gabriel wonders just how much Winchester damage has already been done, if Cas has already started to measure his worth solely on his ability to be useful. It hurts him, and he aches to fix it, but he knows the only thing that can do that is time._

_‘…What do we – what do I do now?’ Cas asks. Gabriel forces a smile, but he knows it must look pained and false._

_‘We’ll work it out. Together, okay? Right now you need to get some sleep.’_

_He pushes Cas backwards, forces him to crawl under the covers, and tucks him in with an expertise that the archangel shouldn’t possess with his complete lack of experience. Cas looks up at him with wide eyes, and Gabriel can see a flicker of the fledgling he once knew so clearly that the urge to bundle Cas up into his arms and rock him to sleep is almost overpowering. But he doesn’t think Castiel, angel of the lord and commander of the Garrison, would appreciate the gesture. So he tousles his brother’s hair instead._

_‘I’m… still not used to sleeping,’ Cas admits, and Gabriel shrugs._

_‘I’ll watch over you.’ He says._

_And he does._

*

The percolator lets out a wheeze that sounds an awful lot like a death rattle, and Cas winces at the noise. They need to get a new one, but it’s so low on their combined list of priorities that it’s not even worth discussing. He tries not to think about it as he stirs cocoa powder into hot milk for Gabe and waits for the percolator to finish percolating, humming some Bob Seger song under his breath. He thinks he picked it up from Dean.

‘You got plans for tonight?’ Gabe asks as he stumbles into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and making grabby hands at the hot chocolate that isn’t quite ready yet. On his journey from his bedroom to the kitchen, he has somehow forgotten to put on a shirt, and Cas makes a face at the slowly healing slash marks across Gabriel’s chest. That last hunt was a lot more complex than _anybody_ had expected, and it isn’t anybody’s fault really, but Cas still hates that Gabe was the one who had to pay the price.

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Cool! What d’you wanna do? You wanna go out to a bar or something?’

‘Not particularly.’ Cas finishes stirring the hot chocolate and hands it over to Gabe, who gulps half of it down in one go with a satisfied sigh.

‘No problemmo,’ he says, ‘We’ll stay in, order a pizza, watch Law and Order SVU till we’re both too stoned to stand.’

‘Gabe, you can go out without me, you know.’

‘Course I can,’ Gabe replies, ‘Question is, why would I want to?’

‘ _Gabe_ , I’m serious. I’m not exactly good company at the moment. You should go out. Why don’t you call Charlie and - ’

‘Let you stay here and wallow on your own? Pass. Look, if this is about Daniel – ’

‘It _isn’t_.’ Cas replies, and it’s mostly true.

‘Sure it isn’t. I’m just saying if it _is_ , that’s fine. You’re allowed to be sad, or angry, or whatever. You’re _allowed_ to want to stay in and be miserable all the damn time. But I’m not letting you do it alone, okay?’

‘…Alright.’

‘Great! Pizza and Law and Order it is then.’ Gabriel drops his empty mug into the sink and grins. Cas’s coffee is still percolating. ‘And hey… you’re… you’re okay, right?’

‘Right,’ Cas agrees, although the word sounds hollow even to him.

‘You sure? You’re not… not having one of your turns or anything, are you?’

‘No, I’m alright.’

Gabe nods, ‘…You’d tell me if you weren’t?’

‘I would.’

‘Good.’ He reaches across, tousles Cas’s hair. ‘I’ll be back around five, okay?’

‘Alright.’

‘You could come downstairs with me, you know. If you wanted.’

‘No, I’m alright. I think I’ll just rest up here.’

‘Sure! Sure, kiddo. Uh… maybe _I’ll_ come up here? For my lunch break? Round twelve?’

Cas smiles, ‘I’ll make sandwiches.’

‘And chocolate milk?’

‘And chocolate milk.’

Gabe grins, pulls Cas into one of those unexpected, without-warning hugs that have quickly become the norm, and then he’s retrieving his shirt from the back of the kitchen table and staggering out of the apartment, still looking half asleep. Cas keeps his smile plastered to his face, maintains the façade until he’s sure Gabe isn’t going to come back into the apartment and try to drag him downstairs, and then slumps against the kitchen counter. He locks the front door on the way back through, abandons his still percolating coffee and shuffles back towards his room. By the time he climbs back into bed and yanks the quilt up to his chin, He’s a trembling mess of anxiety and loss and the painful ache of phantom limbs.

His wings, which Gabe thinks are trapped in some kind of limbo between the ethereal and physical planes, ache as though they’re still present. For all intents and purposes, Castiel is human. He no longer possesses the strength required to either bring his wings into this plane or travel back to the other. It’s the spiritual equivalent of having his arm trapped between an elevator door. He hates it. But he can’t do anything about it, either. More often than not he can handle it. He likes his life, surprising as that might be. He likes his day job in the bookstore, loves the apartment, loves being here with Gabe. Likes watching Law and Order in the evenings, likes getting high during the day to the tune of _Days of Our Lives_. He even likes the way he _looks_ now. Appreciates the tattoos that snake up his forearms, the smatterings of ink on his legs and his back, and the piercings in his ear. He enjoys the soft cotton of a well-worn t-shirt, the faded denim of his jeans. He likes being mistaken as a college student, even likes being referred to as a hippie. He knows sometimes the term is thrown around in the derogatory sense, but can’t quite fathom the circumstances in which being perceived as a peace-loving pacifist would be a _bad_ thing. Things are good, better than he ever thought he’d have, and he's very grateful to Gabe for everything he’s done.

…But that doesn’t stop the phantom ache, the itch he can’t possibly scratch. It doesn’t make him miss being an angel any less. Doesn’t make him miss _Dean_ any less. Because of course he misses Dean. Sam, too, and Bobby, Claire and… and, and Jack. Which is ridiculous because he wasn’t exactly friendly with Claire the last time he saw her and Jack hasn’t even been _born_ yet. But mostly, it’s Dean. Always Dean. Dean in a motel room in the early mornings, hair sticking up at all angles. Dean behind the wheel of the Impala, humming along to the radio. Dean eating at a roadside diner, Dean hunting a vamp nest with a murderous glint in his eyes. Dean in all forms, any form, in every way Cas could possibly picture him. Cas aches with longing at the very thought. Tries not to cry whenever Zeppelin comes on the radio. Keeps his head down and averts his eyes when he passes by a diner or a bakery that promises fresh slices of apple pie. Somewhere along the way, possibly because he lost them both at around the same time, the phantom ache in his back from his wings and the phantom ache in his chest from _Dean_ seem to have become intrinsically linked in his psyche. He can’t seem to have one without the other, leaving him reduced to a whimpering bundle of tightened nerves. On these days, it’s better to just stay in bed. So no, it isn’t about Daniel. Not really. But also, it sort of is. Because it’s been three weeks and he should be _over_ it because Daniel wasn’t so much a boyfriend as he was a substitute for Dean. But it _hurts_. It hurts more than he ever imagined human heartbreak could possibly _hurt_ , and suddenly all those songs about broken hearts and cheating partners make a lot more sense.

He should tell Gabe – and he will – but there’s no point in worrying him now. Gabe’ll want to stay, want to hover nearby, and although it’s a very nice gesture it doesn’t exactly _benefit_ either of them. The paycheque from a day’s work at the shop will help them a lot more than hovering around Cas’s room all day. He huffs, rolls over, shuts his eyes and prays for sleep. It comes, eventually, much to his relief. He drifts in and out of a hazy, low-level sleep, and waits for Gabe to come back for lunch.

*

A cursory glance at the clock on his bedroom wall tells him it’s about ten to twelve, although hearing Gabriel moving around in the apartment could have told him that. Gabriel _sounds_ upset, but Gabe sounds upset a lot of the times these days – an unfortunate side effect of his flair for the dramatic having absolutely no outlet – so Cas can’t bring himself to be urgently concerned. Instead he tries to make himself look halfway presentable, smooths down his hair as best he can, and hopes he doesn’t look like he’s spent the whole morning curled up in bed. He takes one of the pre-rolled joints from his bedside table (Cas spends most of his Friday nights sitting in front of the TV systematically rolling joints, and pretends it’s not as ridiculous as it sounds) and digs around for his lighter. Not here. Hm.

He stumbles down the hallway, joint pressed between his lips, and follows the sound of Gabriel’s voice. He sounds more than just _a little_ upset, and that’s cause for concern, but it’s not nearly as concerning as the sound of a second voice in the apartment. It’s deep and raw and achingly familiar, but Cas is so used to hearing Dean’s voice in every crowded bar and diner he walks into that the thought that it might actually _be Dean_ never once crosses his mind. For a moment he thinks it must be Daniel, and wonders if he can deal with _that_ confrontation in his current state.

‘Gabe,’ he says, because he thinks his presence might defuse whatever rapidly escalating conflict Gabriel and Daniel are engaged in, ‘Have you seen my lighter?’

And then he’s in the living room, face to face with someone he never thought he’d see again, and he… his brain can’t seem to work straight. Dean looks… he looks good. Better than Cas remembered. Suburbia clearly agrees with him, and Cas feels a pang of sadness at the thought. He thinks he should say something else, but nothing comes to mind. What do you say when the unrequited love of your life shows up in your living room after not having seen you for a year? Cas isn’t sure. There might be a human protocol for this situation, a socially appropriate response, but if there is, he hasn’t learned it yet.

As usual, Dean’s got it covered. He looks at Cas, green eyes full of shock, wonder, awe and hurt, and when he speaks it sounds so much like a prayer that it’s a wonder Castiel manages to stay standing.

‘…Cas?’ He rasps, and Castiel takes his cue with a tentative smile.

‘Hello, Dean.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, you guys are literally the sweetest. Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks and all that good stuff! Means a lot :))) 
> 
> Once again, I am wishing you a very pleasant Destiel Roadhouse Wedding, and promising that there'll be some Destiel action in the next chapter. (Which there will. Sorry if you were hoping for more of a slowburn, but c'mon! We've all waited long enough and I am a HOE, and if things move really really quickly after Dean and Cas are reunited I will not apologise)
> 
> See you soon!


	6. Fallen Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! Another chapter at last. I'm thinking about trying to set up some kind of predictable update schedule, but for the moment it's gonna have to be random while I get my shit together. Thanks guys!

_‘I gotta show you something,’ Gabe says, tight-lipped and wary. Castiel looks up from his book and frowns._

_‘What is it?’_

_‘You’re not gonna like it.’_

_‘Okay.’_

_‘It’s… before everything happened with Michael and Lucifer. Zachariah showed me something. He showed me your future.’_

_‘Oh.’_

_‘Yeah. I uh… I didn’t like it much.’ Gabriel rubs his face and sits down on the bed opposite Cas’s. The motel is a lot nicer than what Cas is used to, but it isn’t exactly five stars. Earlier, when he went to take his shower, Cas swears he saw a cockroach the size of his hand crawl into a crack under the sink._

_‘How far into the future?’ Cas asks._

_‘All of it. Right up until you… until…’_

_‘Ah.’ Cas nods, ‘That must have been… unpleasant.’_

_‘…I need you to see it, squirt.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘Because I need you to understand why I had to stop it.’_

_Cas’s eyes narrow, ‘What do you mean stop it? Gabriel – ’_

_‘Just – trust me, okay? Please?’ He holds out his hand, and the look on his face is so broken and tormented that Cas has no choice but to give in. He takes Gabriel’s hand in his, and the archangel lets out a shaky sigh. ‘Just… don’t hate me.’_

_The years pass by in a matter of minutes, but Castiel lives through them as Gabriel did, and to him they are long and painful. When he comes out the other side, shaking and panting on his bed in the motel room, he feels a great many things. Anger, sadness, loss, joy._

_But hatred for Gabriel is not one of them. It never would have been._

_*_

_Hello, Dean._

Dean knows he should say something. He should _definitely_ say something, but he has absolutely no idea what that something might be. All he can do is stare at Cas, at the shaggy mop of hair that brushes at his shoulders, the cluster of piercings in his left ear, the Pink Floyd logo on the front of his obnoxiously tie dyed shirt. He’s full of relief as well as anger, wondering how and why Castiel is here, why he didn’t answer Dean’s prayers, why the angel so obviously doesn’t want to see him.

But there’s some kind of demon posing as his brother in the back of his car, and Lisa doesn’t want anything to do with him, and his Grandfather is somehow up and walking around and _nothing_ makes sense anymore, and he feels so hopelessly, painfully, desperately alone that when he closes the distance between him and Cas, throws his arms around the angel’s shoulders and buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, he’s only the slightest bit ashamed. Cas smells like pot and earth and old periodicals. He smells like home, and Dean lets out an embarrassing sob as Cas’s arms come up to wrap around his middle, a little uncertainly. Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath, forces himself to relax. Cas is here, and that’s all that matters. The rest is just details. Cas is _here_ , and they will work things out together.

And then Gabriel clears his throat, and Cas practically _jumps_ away. If Dean wasn’t seriously considering throwing punches before, he certainly is now. He shoots a glare at Gabriel that doesn’t shatter the archangel’s composure at _all_ , then chances a glance back at Cas, who’s scratching the back of his neck like a scolded child.

‘Thought you said you didn’t know where Cas was.’ Dean mutters. Gabriel shrugs.

‘I also said if he’d contact you if he wanted to talk. That point still stands.’

The archangel leans over and brushes a stray bit of hair out of Cas’s eyes, then licks his thumb and wipes a dirt smudge off his cheek for good measure, the way Dean (embarrassingly) used to do when Sam was about three or four. Cas folds his arms over his chest in a borderline defensive stance, and suddenly he can’t quite meet Dean’s eyes, which feels strikingly similar to a punch in the gut.

‘…Right.’ Dean mutters. His hands are back in his pockets, and he’s scuffing his feet like a child. He feels stupid, ridiculous, because _of course_ Cas doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t have time for his stupid, insignificant problems. He’s like, what, the head of heaven now? Compared to that, Dean’s shit must look like small fry.

…Except Cas isn’t in heaven. He’s here, standing barefoot on 70’s shag carpet with a joint in his hands and what _looks_ like a tattoo of a four leaf clover on his wrist. That feeling that something is fundamentally wrong is back, and Dean still can’t quite shake it.

‘What are you doing here, man?’ He asks, even though he’s already asked Gabriel and received no real answer. Cas tilts his head to one side and squints, _(God, Dean’s missed that,)_ regarding Dean with a look of genuine puzzlement.

‘I live here, Dean.’

‘Well, yeah. Okay. But… _why_?’

‘Gabriel and I got tired of living in motel rooms. It can be… very uncomfortable. I’m not sure how you and Sam managed to keep it up for so long.’ Cas pauses then, looking stricken, ‘Dean… I was very sorry to hear about what happened to Sam.’

Dean frowns, taken aback, ‘You know about Sam?’

‘Gabriel told me of his fall into the pit. It was a very brave thing your brother did. You must be very proud.’

The fall… into the pit? But Cas… Cas was there for that, wasn’t he? Or he knew about it, at least. He healed Dean’s face and brought Bobby back, and he _knew_ , and he was sorry, and they had an argument in the car about Dean wanting Sam back.

…Didn’t they?

Cas was different that day, and he’s different now too, but it’s… it’s a different _kind_ of difference. This, now, Cas is different in the physical sense, but he’s still warm and familiar and _Cas_. That day he was… distant. Off. Like he was playing a part.

He turns to Gabriel, who’s glancing around the room with a guilty expression, and things start to come together.

‘You son of a bitch!’ Dean steps forward and grabs Gabriel by the collar of his stupid fucking dress shirt, slamming him into the nearest wall. His head collides with a _Reservoir Dogs_ poster, leaving a dent in the plaster underneath.

‘ _Dean_ ,’ Cas says, gentler than he has any right to be, but Dean ignores him.

‘It was you, wasn’t it? At the cemetery? You _asshole_.’

Gabe rolls his eyes, but his hands are back up in that gesture of surrender. ‘You know, a little gratitude would be nice. _Oh, gee, Gabriel. Thanks a bunch for fixing my face and bringing Bobby back from the dead. I sure do owe you one_.’

‘Why did you do that? Huh? Where do you get off?’

‘Because I knew Cas would have wanted me to!’ Gabriel snapped.

‘So why didn’t _he_ do it?’

‘Because he couldn’t! He was too busy being dead!’

Dean drops Gabriel like stone and he slides down the wall a little to gain his balance, but Dean hardly notices.

‘He – what?’

‘God didn’t bring Cassie back from the dead, you _ass_. I did. Nearly killed me, too. It’s not easy rebuilding someone from scratch after they fucking _explode_.’

Cas flinches involuntarily at the suggestion, and Dean wonders if it hurt, exploding into a pile of blood and guts like that. He guesses it probably did.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Dean asks. The question is directed more at Cas than Gabriel, thus the slightly softer tone, but Cas either can’t or won’t speak, and Gabriel steps in before Dean has a chance to press further.

‘Because it wasn’t any of your business! Look, I gave you what you wanted. I healed you up, even brought Bobby back, let you go sailing off to your apple pie life. Least you could do is afford Cas the same courtesy.’

‘And you made me think he was off running heaven _because_?’

Gabriel pinches his nose with his fingers. ‘Because, if I had told you he was here, and hurt, and – and _human_ , you would have felt like you had to take care of him.’

‘Yeah, you’re damn right I would have! You think I would have been off in the fucking suburbs if I thought Cas needed my help?’

‘I _think_ you would have taken him away from me again!’ Gabriel snapped, ‘And quite frankly, Winchester, I’m getting real fuckin’ tired of people taking my kid brother away from me. Real fuckin’ tired.’

‘Gabe,’ Cas starts, his voice soft and gentle, ‘It’s alright.’ Gabriel holds up his hand and shakes his head.

‘I’m fine, Cas. I just – I’m just… tired. Like I said.’

‘So what, you’re his keeper now? You say jump, Cas says how high?’ Dean turns to Cas, anger rising, half expecting Castiel to be as angry as he is about the small matter of stolen identity. Cas’s face is entirely unreadable.

‘Did… did you know about all this?’ Dean asks, and Cas nods.

‘Of course.’

‘Don’t hold us to the Winchester standard of brotherly bonds, Dean. Cassie and I don’t keep secrets.’

‘Alright, listen here you – ’

‘Dean?’ Sam’s voice is just a tad uncertain, but it rings out clear as a bell from the front door, where the younger Winchester is hovering with one hand slightly raised, almost as if he’s contemplating knocking. The silence is deafening. Whatever Gabriel and Cas might have known, they _obviously_ didn’t know Sam was back out of the cage.

But that isn’t what worries Dean. What worries Dean is the look on Gabe’s face – a spark of uneasy recognition, a look in his eye that practically _screams_ something isn’t right. Part of Dean is relieved that somebody else has picked up on it, but mostly he’s just frightened, worried that Gabe could recognise it so easily, that he looks so damn concerned.

‘…Sam?’ Cas ventures, but it goes largely unnoticed, overshadowed by the next words out of Gabriel’s mouth.

‘…Where’s your _soul_ , Moose?’

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kind of a short one, but at least the whole "Sam hasn't got a soul" plot is starting to get resolved. I'm absolutely terrible at writing soulless Sam so until it gets fixed he's gonna be a lot quieter... sorry. I really wanna get that plotpoint resolved quickly but I'm looking at my outline and realising I might need to shuffle some things around, because I wanna get to the Sabriel stuff at some point and it's gonna be weird having Sam all quiet and ugh. Bear with me guys :')


	7. Smoke on the Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! TW for sex work / survival sex - it's heavily implied in the flashback for this chapter, and will be mentioned a couple times later on in the fic (I'll mention it in the notes for later chapters) so please be aware and look after yourselves. Also, again, we barely hear from Sam in this one because I can't write soulless Sam for shit :')

_‘No.’ Cas folds his arms over his chest like a spoilt child, his back to the motel door, blocking Gabe’s only exit. Gabe raises his eyebrows. The audacity of this child._

_‘Excuse me?’_

_‘I said no.’_

_‘Oh, I heard you. I just figured I’d give you a chance to explain yourself.’_

_‘I don’t think I need one, do you? I think you understand perfectly well. The answer is no.’_

_‘I wasn’t asking your permission!’ Gabe snarls, ‘This has nothing to do with you.’_

_‘No?’_

_‘No! Last time I checked, I’m the one who decides what to do with my body, not you.’_

_‘I’m not letting you do this, Gabriel. We’ll find another way.’_

_‘Like what? What are you gonna do, huh? Open up a lemonade stand?’_

_‘You’re not the only one with a body to sell, Gabe.’_

_And for a second Gabriel’s so shocked, so absolutely dumbstruck by the implication, that he actually takes a step back like he’s been slapped._

_‘That’s not happening.’ He says. This time it’s Castiel who raises his eyebrows._

_‘Why not?’_

_‘Because no, Cas! No! No way. I’m supposed to protect you.’_

_‘And I you.’_

_‘No! I’m the older brother, get it? I look after you, not the other way around. You’re my responsibility, damn it. We need cash, I go get cash. That’s just how it works.’_

_‘And who are you basing this philosophy off?’_

_‘You know who!’_

_‘Exactly. I’ve had to put up with Dean Winchester’s self-sacrificing attitude for twelve years -’_

_‘Two years.’ Gabriel corrects._

_‘Two years, just to have you pull the same… the same… the same bullshit!’ Cas says the last word with such uncertainty it’s borderline comical, and Gabe laughs in spite of himself._

_‘Cas, kiddo, I appreciate the sentiment. Really, I do. But we need cash, fast. And this is something I can do for us. It’s something I’m good at. Just, let me do this. Please?’_

_‘No.’ Cas deadpans. Firm, unmoving. End of discussion._

_‘Castiel, don’t make me grace up just to bitch slap you.’_

_Castiel shifts on his feet, shoring up his stance. He tilts his chin up in a silent challenge._

_‘Try it,’ he says. Gabriel sighs._

_Well, Cas can’t say he didn’t warn him._

*

Cas has managed to find his lighter, and he sits on the edge of the couch with the joint in his hand, plumes of smoke hovering around his mouth and nose. The smell takes Dean straight back to high school (or straight back to Zachariah’s version of 2014, if he lets it) and it’s strangely comforting. He decides not to read too much into it – he needs all the comfort he can get, after all. He’s just found out his baby brother has no fucking _soul_.

So when Cas offers him the joint, he takes it. He breathes in and holds it, surprised at how easy it is even after all these years. Muscle memory has a lot to answer for, he guesses. He passes it back to Cas, who smiles warmly and apologetically as Dean’s head starts to buzz. On the other side of the room, Gabriel is circling Sam, who’s seated cross-legged on the floor. Sam looks the way he always looks lately – unphased and disinterested. But Gabriel looks more worried than Dean’s ever seen him, chewing at his bottom lip with his hands behind his back.

‘This can’t be good,’ he says finally.

‘Oh, you think?’ Dean snaps and Castiel laughs, actually _laughs_ at Dean’s irritation. It would piss him off even more if it wasn’t so fucking cute.

‘I didn’t even think this could _happen_ ,’ Gabe continues, ‘It – it _shouldn’t_ happen. I mean, this is… it’s…’ He gestures to Sam wildly, ‘It’s fucking _unprecedented_ , is what it is.’

Cas hums in half-stoned agreement. Sam looks at the archangel, that same cold expression still present.

‘Can you fix it?’

‘Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe?’

‘ _Maybe?’_ Dean growls, ‘My brother’s soul is still in the cage, and you _maybe_ think you can fix it?’

‘Hey jackass, ever heard of being grateful for what you have? I mean, you got a whole other brother down there in the cage, soul and all, and I don’t hear you complaining about that. Fuck’s sake, we didn’t even know you could _get_ somebody out of the cage up until now. The fact that he’s here at all is – it’s…’

‘A miracle?’ Sam offers, and Dean wants to smack the smug smirk right off his little brother’s face.

‘Something like that.’ Gabe agrees.

‘Well,’ Cas says, ‘They’ll have to stay here.’

And three voices ring out at the exact time, a surprised and horrified chorus of _‘What?!’_

Cas, unphased, takes one last drag from the joint and stubs it out on the coffee table. ‘They’ll have to stay here. Until we decide what to do about Sam’s soul.’

‘Nope. Nuh-uh. No _fucking_ way.’ Gabriel starts to pace the length of the living room, fuming with unbridled rage as Cas huffs out a longsuffering sigh and throws himself back against the couch.

‘ _Gabe_ – ’

‘I said _no_ , Castiel. Absolutely not.’

‘You’re being unreasonable.’

‘ _Unreasonable_? Unreasonable, he says!’ Gabe throws his hands in the air, stalks over to where Cas is sitting limp and unbothered, sunken into the couch cushions. ‘I think I’ve been _very_ fucking reasonable this past year, Cassie. No, really, I have. I agreed to the dead-end job in the book shop, I was fine with the pot-smoking, totally on board with the tattoos and the piercings, but this? No. No, I draw the line, kiddo. I’m putting my fucking foot down.’

Cas smiles a kind of lazy, half-awake smile, and if Gabriel’s little outburst or the archangel’s current close proximity to his _face_ bothers him at all, he doesn’t show it.

‘…What time is it, Gabe?’ He asks.

‘Wh – I don’t know.’ Gabriel glances at his watch, clearly thrown by the question, ‘Twelve. It’s like, ten minutes past twelve, okay?’

‘Did you lock the bookshop when you left?’ Cas asks in that same voice of serene calm.

‘I – fuck.’

‘You’re on shift until five o’clock today, too.’ Cas hums, ‘Sara’s going to _kill_ you.’

Gabe pauses, entirely dumbstruck, then utters the irritated groan of someone who _knows_ they’re wrong but definitely doesn’t want to be. He pushes off the couch and stalks back to the kitchen, rummaging in his pocket for his keys.

‘Look, just – I’ll be back soon, okay? They’re still not staying here, Cas, I mean it. In fact, they – they better be _gone_ by the time I get back.’

‘Gabe, I got groceries today.’ Cas says, apropos of nothing.

‘Yeah, that’s great squirt.’ Gabe already has one hand on the doorknob, ready to slam the door as the grand finale to his dramatic storm out.

‘There’s Reece’s Pieces for you in the refrigerator.’

And just like that, Gabriel’s entire demeanor crumbles, his shoulders slump, and when he speaks, his words are tired, fond, and worn down.

‘…Thanks, Cassie.’ He sighs, makes a brief detour to collect his candy, and when he leaves, it’s without a door slam. Dean thinks it looks like the exit of a man who knows he’s lost the argument. Dean should know – he made similar exits throughout his childhood with Sam, and even more during his time with Lisa.

Cas, meanwhile, wears a smug smile that woulda given eight-year-old Sam a run for his money. He puts his feet up on the table, his hands braced behind his head.

‘He’ll be alright. He didn’t like my car at first, either. But he came around – he always does.’

Dean has no response for that – he’s not even a hundred percent sure what they’re talking about anymore. But Cas is more interested in Sam for the moment, anyway, so Dean’s silence goes largely unnoticed.

‘You look tired, Sam.’ Cas notes, and Sam seems surprised at the observation.

‘Huh?’

‘Tired. You’re injured,’ he gestures pointedly to Sam’s bloodied, swollen face. Dean’s beating had been anything but gentle. ‘You should rest.’

‘I – uh… yeah.’ Sam finishes lamely. He didn’t expect kindness here, clearly, and Dean can’t blame him. Hell, Sam’s his _brother_ , and he doesn’t exactly feel like being kind at the moment, so why should Cas?

‘Gabriel’s room is just down the hall. Second door on the left. You can sleep in there – he won’t mind.’

‘I… okay. Thanks.’ Sam gets up with a wince and wanders down the hall, looking lost and confused. Dean knows the feeling.

And then there were two.

Cas fishes the remote out from under the couch and switches on the TV, settling into some soap opera that Dean vaguely recognises but can’t quite place. He dares to sit on the arm of the couch, feeling out of place, but Cas doesn’t object. Instead, the angel (ex-angel?) just sits there, staring at the TV with his hands folded in his lap.

‘…I really am sorry, Dean.’ He says after a while. Dean, who had been settling into something that was not quite sleep, but not exactly wakefulness either, jolts at the sudden sound.

‘…For what?’ He asks. Cas shrugs.

‘Everything,’ he replies, and there’s so much weight in that one word that Dean’s stomach tightens in discomfort. He doesn’t want to do this conversation – isn’t totally sure what this conversation is, just knows he doesn’t want to have it. Fortunately, Cas – seemingly bored with TV for now – gets up and starts messing with the stereo, effectively closing the subject. 

‘…Simon and Garfunkel?’ Dean quirks an eyebrow.

‘I like Simon Garfunkel.’ Cas says simply, like the angel of the lord having a musical preference is a perfectly normal and not at all unprecedented revelation.

‘You do?’ Dean asks, ‘…Since when?’

‘It’s a recent development,’ Cas admits, ‘Prior to my resurrection, I really only heard the music you introduced me to. And before I met _you_ I had only a cursory preference for classical music. Mozart, Beethoven, Bach.’ He pauses, a wistful look in his eyes, ‘I enjoyed Bach very much.’

‘And now?’

‘I have a sizeable record collection.’ It sounds like a brag, but Dean’s too preoccupied to notice.

‘No kidding. You… you got any Zeppelin in that _sizeable_ record collection of yours?’

‘Of course,’ Castiel replies, seemingly offended at the suggestion that he might not.

‘Oh yeah? Which… which albums?’

Cas tilts his head to one side, as though the answer should be obvious.

‘All of them.’ He says.

Huh. Dean's... Dean's gonna have to think about that later. Thoroughly. Alone. 

About five and a half hours later, Gabriel comes back with enough Chinese food for four people, and doesn’t say anything about the Winchester asleep in his bed. Dean wonders if the archangel kowtowed to the bookshop job and the piercings and the pot-smoking so quickly.

*

Castiel is many things – a celestial being, an angel of the lord, a good fighter, a fucking _nerd_ , just to name a few – but Dean never expected _excellent host_ to come under that particular list of qualifications. And yet, here he is, sitting at the kitchen table while an ancient, otherworldly being makes him tea. Dean doesn’t like tea, as a general rule, but it’s late and he can’t sleep and apparently Cas can’t either. And besides, Cas _offered_ , and Dean finds it’s getting increasingly more difficult to say _no_ to Cas. It was never that easy to begin with.

Cas is dressed in one of those cotton bathrobes with a Chinese dragon embroidered on the back, black and faded and a little ratty around the edges. Probably picked up from a thrift store somewhere – Dean guesses Cas and Gabe came by most of their possessions that way. He’s wearing that same tie-dyed Pink Floyd t-shirt underneath, and Dean _wants_ to ask about it but doesn’t, because he’s spent most of the evening firing questions at Cas, and he doesn’t want to come off like more of a pain in the ass than he already is. Cas looks up with a wry smile, like he’s been reading Dean’s mind.

‘Gabriel bought this shirt for my birthday,’ he says, ‘But I dyed it myself.’

‘Oh.’ Dean says. It sounds lame even to him.

‘I saw you looking at it earlier,’ Cas explains, ‘…You could have asked, Dean.’

‘Yeah, well. I… it’s none of my business.’ Dean bristles, uncomfortable, but Cas smooths it over with a conversational finesse that he certainly didn’t have _before_.

‘You’re _allowed_ to ask me things, Dean, no matter how mundane they might seem. You clearly have a lot of questions, understandably so, and I’m more than happy to answer them.’

Cas comes over to the table with two mugs of tea, and takes the seat opposite Dean. The table has been crammed forcibly into a narrow space between two walls (the kitchen’s longer than it is wide, but not by much) and it lends an air of intimacy to the conversation that Dean can’t decide if he likes or not. There’s an undeniable comfort in all this – sat here with Cas, drinking tea in the middle of the night while everybody else is asleep – but it’s also a little too… close. It puts Dean in a position of vulnerability that he’d really rather not be in. He looks at Cas, who looks back at him with an open, _knowing_ expression, as though he can read Dean like a book.

‘…You diggin’ around in my head again, Cas?’

Cas laughs, a tiny, breathy little chuckle that sends shivers down Dean’s spine. ‘I can’t read thoughts anymore, no. But I find that I am still able to… detect emotional states more acutely than most humans. I suspect I might still possess remnants of my grace, which may make me more attuned in that respect.’ He pauses, thinking, ‘…And I have always found you easier to read than most.’

‘…Oh yeah?’

‘Dean, regardless of my current status as a celestial being, I still raised you from hell. I rebuilt you, molecule by molecule. That level of… _intimacy_ isn’t exactly common. It’s only natural that it should result in an added degree of familiarity. A kind of profound bond exists between us. I suspect it always will.’

Dean can feel himself blushing, hopes it isn’t too obvious. ‘…Yeah, okay.’ He coughs. ‘…I guess… I guess I just kinda wish it was more of a two-way street, y’know? I mean, I never really… never really know what’s going on in that head of yours. I don’t – don’t know _you_ at all, really.’

‘You know me better than you think, Dean, but even so.’ He leans back in his chair, spreads his hands out – palms up – as an open invitation. ‘Ask me anything, and I will endeavor to answer truthfully.’

And damnit, Dean can’t think of a single thing to ask. He’s already asked about the whole angel thing – interrogated him about his lack of grace over fried rice and egg rolls – asked him about his job and his pot-smoking and his records. What else is there?

‘…Are you… do you hunt?’

‘Sometimes, yes.’

‘You’ve uh… got kind of a reputation out there, y’know. Everybody says the bookshop’s the place to go if you’ve got questions about the supernatural.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. It wasn’t our intention, but Gabe and I did find ourselves offering up our combined knowledge to those who ask for it. Though, I’ll admit, I do still have some difficulties determining what is classed as _supernatural_ and what isn’t. You must remember that as a celestial being, I was not aware that some creatures were considered _fictional_ by human standards.’

‘Right, yeah. I guess that makes sense.’

‘Of course, Gabriel has more experience with those nuances than I do, which has made him both a wonderful asset and an _insufferable_ pain in the ass.’ He pauses, drinks his tea. ‘…It was quite a few months before I discovered _bears_ were, for want of a better term, classed as _real_.’

Dean laughs; a kind of surprised, barking sound that takes them both off guard. It’s been a while since he genuinely laughed like that. He covers his mouth with his hand to muffle the sound.

‘So hunting,’ Dean ventures, because it’s a topic he understands and knows like the back of his hand. It’s _safe_. Or at least, he _thinks_ it is. Something in Cas’s smirk says differently.

‘Gabe and I move in different hunting circles to what you’re used to. It’s a little more… recreational, I suppose you could say.’

Dean guesses most things in Cas’s life are a little more _recreational_ , these days, if his pot-smoking is anything to go by.

‘So what, you guys go out and shoot ducks or something?’

‘It’s difficult to explain. We hadn’t intended to get into hunting at all, and probably wouldn’t have if the people we encountered were well-versed in the so-called Winchester Method of hunting.’

‘Winchester Method?’

‘Carver Edlund’s novels haven’t done you any favours in that respect.’

Dean rolls his eyes, ‘And what does the _Winchester Method_ look like, exactly?’

‘Higher stakes. A greater level of intensity, all business. A lot of self-sacrificing behaviour.’

‘Right. As opposed to?’

‘Like I said, it’s recreational. The people Gabe and I work with, they aren’t hunters by trade. Most of them hold steady, nine to five jobs during the week.’

‘So it’s… like a hobby?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Huh.’

‘It’s a lot less serious, more of a social activity. There’s a considerable amount of smoking and drinking involved.’

‘No kidding. And that uh… suits you? You like it better?’

‘Not _better_ , no. It scratches an itch I didn’t know I had, makes things a little more bearable.’ He looks up at Dean, smiling shyly, ‘…Personally, I have always preferred the Winchester Method of doing things. Even if it is a little more life-threatening.’

Dean grins at that, can’t help it. ‘And what does Gabe think about it? The hunting?’

‘It satisfies his need to punish the so-called _douchebags_ of the world.’

‘Heh. Yeah, I guess it would.’

They fall into silence and Dean panics, worried Cas might take the quiet as an end to the conversation, that he might take his tea and go back to bed. Well, back to the living room, anyway, where he’s sleeping on the couch. He gave his room to Dean, despite all objections to the contrary, and happily took the couch like the chivalrous bastard he is. Gabe, on the other hand, had no such qualms about chivalry. He simply shoved Sam over to the far side of his bed, stole back the blankets and went to sleep. It’s perhaps the only time Dean has wished Cas could be a _little_ more like Gabe and a little less like, well. Cas. Regardless, he fumbles for something to say, just to keep the conversation going for as long as he possibly can. But what could he possibly say? What could he ask? Dude’s been living human for the better part of a year, wandering around Kansas like some kind of stoner Christ figure, and Dean wants to hear about every single second in excruciating detail. He wants to know if Cas has friends, if he’s happy, if he’s seeing anyone. If he’s ever… no. _God no_ , Dean can’t ask that. That’s too humiliating, too personal.

‘ _Dean_ ,’ Cas says, sounding equal parts amused and exasperated, ‘I can _see_ you’re grappling with a question. Didn’t I say you could ask me anything?’

‘Well… well yeah, but – ’

‘ _Dean_.’

‘Are you a virgin?’ He blurts, and it’s not even the question he’d _most_ wanted to ask, but somehow the words are out of his mouth and he can’t imagine a more humiliating situation.

Cas quirks an eyebrow, clearly fighting back a grin.

‘I mean, uh. It’s been like a year since I saw you last, and you’re uh, you’re _human_ now, so I guess… I mean, have you uh… you been with anyone?’

This time Cas does grin, and even lets out another one of those breathy chuckles. ‘No, Dean. I’m not a virgin.’

‘Oh.’ Dean says, and he has no idea why he feels so disappointed. He drinks a mouthful of tea in an attempt to look casual, and damn, that stuff's actually not bad. It’s sort of minty, with a hint of lemon underneath.

‘Well, I suppose I _am_ in the heterosexual sense, but I’ve never given much stock to that particular definition of virginity.’

Dean chokes, sprays a mouthful of tea over the wooden tabletop.

‘Oh.’ He says again. ‘I didn’t, uh… didn’t know you… right. Okay.’

‘…Does it bother you?’

‘No! No, of course not. I’m just uh… surprised, is all. You never… never said.’

‘You never asked.’ Cas shrugs.

‘…Uh… was it… how was it?’

‘Satisfactory.’ Cas replies, and it’s the most _Castiel_ response that he could have given. It makes Dean smile in spite of himself.

‘Great, that’s… good. Good for you, Cas.’

‘Of course, I was quite inexperienced at the time. I have improved considerably since then.’

Dean wonders if it’s possible to sink through the floor and disappear, never to be seen again. He thinks he’d like to give it a shot.

‘Admittedly, it has been a while,’ Cas continues, as though he isn’t giving Dean a fucking emotional _crisis_ with every word he says, ‘I’ve been experiencing what Gabe refers to as a _dry spell_. I recently concluded quite a significant long-term relationship, and since then I haven’t had opportunity to… well. I suppose that’s off-topic.’

Oh god, and Dean has questions. He has so many questions, and sure Cas said he could ask him anything, but he probably wasn’t referring to a full-blown interrogation about his love life. Dean taps his fingers on the tabletop and drinks his tea in silence. Nope, he’s not going to ask, goddamnit. Absolutely not. Cas rolls his eyes.

‘His name was Daniel, he was twenty-nine, we saw each other for approximately four months, two weeks and three days. We met while hunting, he asked if he could _bum a joint_ and I complimented him on his t-shirt. It was an AC/DC t-shirt, and it reminded me of you. I still have it somewhere, I think. He wasn’t the one who took my virginity, but I found his love-making skills to be more than satisfactory. I ended our relationship after I walked into his house unannounced and found him having sex with his ex-girlfriend on the kitchen counter. Gabriel broke his nose.’

‘…Huh.’

‘That was about a month ago.’ Cas says, and then as a quiet afterthought, he adds, ‘…I still miss him, sometimes. I haven’t seen him in quite a while.’

‘He still in town?’

‘Last I heard. I suspect he’s hunting in different circles now, if he’s hunting at all. My friends… shunned him somewhat, after they heard what happened.’

Dean’s heart warms at that, at the thought of Cas having friends to watch his back. It makes him feel a little better about not having contacted the angel for nearly a year.

‘Yeah, well. If we see him, point him out to me. Maybe I’ll re-break his nose for you.’

‘Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the sentiment.’

Dean shrugs, ‘No problem.’

‘Does… does that mean you’ll be staying?’

‘Well yeah. I mean, you said we could stay till we figure out what to do about Sammy’s soul, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, I figure that’s probably gonna take a while. You’ll have to show me around, introduce me to those friends of yours.’

Cas’s smile is small, cautious, but the sparkle of excitement in his eyes is breathtaking in sheer magnitude alone. Maybe Cas was right – maybe Dean can read him better than he thought.

‘…I’d like that.’ Cas says, and _god_ , Dean really has got it _bad_. He knows absolutely nothing good can come from the sickly rush of affection that blooms in his chest, but for the moment he lets it be. Just this once, just for a little while. He figures he’s earned it.

‘So…’ Dean’s not good at this. Feelings, chick flick moments, and his avoidance of them stems just as much from his perceived inadequacy on the topic as it does from his general distaste for it. But god damnit, he’s not made of stone, he’s in the middle of yet another shitstorm, and something about Cas’s tousled bed hair makes him look soft and safe in all the right ways. ‘Are you happy? I mean like, really happy here? With all… this?’ He gestures around the apartment, unsure of how else to describe it.

‘I was… content.’ Cas replies, ‘But now that you and Sam are here, I think I might be somewhere close to happy, yes.’

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. He says as much, and Cas laughs.

‘You don’t have to _do_ anything with it, Dean. It just is.’

_It just is_. Like it’s that easy. Cas’s voice lacks expectation, and he speaks without needing anything in return. He’s happy because Dean’s here, but doesn’t expect Dean to feel or say anything in kind. Dean’s blown away by the insinuation, that Cas can express affection without reciprocation. That someone could just _be_ happy, purely because Dean and his brother are there.

Dean clears his throat. He’s _really_ not good at this, but he’s going to try anyway.

‘I uh… I missed having you around this past year.’

‘I missed you too.’ Cas smiles, ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t answer your prayers, Dean. If I’d known –’

‘Hey, no. Not your fault, Cas. Besides, it all worked out.’

Well, okay. It hasn’t exactly _worked_ out yet. But it will, Dean’s sure. It has to, now that Cas is here.

‘We will get Sam’s soul back, Dean. I promise you. I know I don’t have the same abilities as I did before, that I’m not as useful,’ Cas winces at the words, ‘…but Gabe and I will find a way, if you’ll let us, we’ll figure it out.’

Dean frowns, reminded a little too much of that 2014 Castiel. ‘Cas, man. You don’t have to have powers to be useful. Hell, you don’t gotta be useful at all. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re back.’

A million emotions seem to flicker across Cas’s face in seconds – confusion, shock, disbelief, but also joy and relief, gratitude.

‘…Thank you, Dean.’ His voice sounds rougher than usual, like he might be about to cry or something, and Dean thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job with this whole chick flick situation but he’s _definitely_ not going to cope if Cas starts crying his eyes out. He reaches across the table, meaning to put his hand on Cas’s arm in some kind of macho _just-guys-being-guys_ type gesture, but he moves a little too fast and Cas flinches back on instinct, resulting in Dean grabbing the ex-angel’s hand instead of his arm. And now they’re holding hands across the table. Awesome. Dean’s just made a bad situation a hell of a lot worse.

Except… except maybe he hasn’t, because Cas isn’t exactly moving away. He’s just kind of, sitting there, like having Dean’s hand on top of his is totally normal and not at all weird. And actually… it actually is kinda awesome, really. Cas’s hand is warm and soft, a little calloused from hard labour, which is a surprise. What the _hell_ have they got Cas doing in that bookshop? And then Cas moves his hand, turns it palm up before Dean has time to react, and then they’re holding hands properly. No denying it, no brushing it off. Dean is sitting in Cas’s kitchen at three in the morning, holding hands.

…It’s nice.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! As a sidenote, that whole thing about Cas not realising what creatures are fictional and what aren't was cribbed from a Tumblr post. I'd link it, but I think it's lost on my blog somewhere. Also, I have absolutely no patience when it comes to writing Destiel, so again, this is really not a slowburn. I'm working off the theory that Dean not only *is* bi, but knows it, even if he's not super open about it. Cas coming out to him is probably the trigger that's gonna help Dean sort his shit out and figure out what he wants. Well, mostly. There is one other trigger, but you know. Spoilers :)


	8. Losing My Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double Chapter Day! This chapter is so short, and it and the one immediately after are basically a part 1 part 2 type deal anyway, so I figured I'd post them together. This one was super hard to come up with a title for, but it kinda fits and I like REM so here we are, lol. Guys, thanks so much for all your comments and kudos and stuff, I genuinely didn't expect this story to get so much love. I was just kinda doing it for fun, but to know that other people are having as much fun as I am is just, so sweet. Love you guys <3

_‘What the fuck, Gabriel?’ Cas’s voice is a harsh whisper, and he can’t recall ever having spoken the F word before in his life. Which, given the past year, is actually sort of an achievement. He should really get a medal, especially after having to witness Daniel and Katie having sex on the kitchen counter in a position that could only be called inhuman. But somehow, Sam’s lack of soul seems a justified use of the word fuck where Katie and Daniel (despite actually being engaged in the act) did not. This is not good. This is not good at all, and Gabe at least has the curtesy to look sheepish._

_‘…Okay. I’ll admit this looks bad.’_

_‘Bad? Bad? Gabriel, Sam Winchester has no soul!’_

_‘That would be the part that looks bad, yeah.’_

_They’re standing in the kitchen, huddled next to the table. Sam’s still asleep in Gabriel’s room, and Dean went to bed in Cas’s about half an hour ago, but Cas knows Dean, and knows he’ll most likely be up and shuffling around the apartment in no time. Dean doesn’t sleep well when he’s in the middle of a crisis, which is unfortunate, because the Winchesters are in the middle of a crisis just about all the time._

_Cas pinches the bridge of his nose, a gesture he stole from Gabriel._

_‘When I asked you if it all went to plan, if you succeeded in getting Sam out of the cage, you told me yes.’_

_‘Because I thought I did! I mean, I technically did, didn’t I? He’s in the apartment, isn’t he?’_

_‘With the exception of one vitally important component.’_

_‘Alright, take it easy there kiddo. If memory serves, you didn’t do such a hotshot job of dragging Sam outta the cage either.’_

_‘Yes, but you had my mistakes to learn from! You knew how important it was to make sure that you grabbed everything, soul and all!’_

_‘Well maybe I’m just not used to diving into the deepest part of hell and dragging somebody else out! It’s not exactly a fucking picnic, you know.’_

_‘Believe me, I know.’_

_‘So lay off! I didn’t have time, I did the best I could.’_

_Cas huffs in reluctant agreement. ‘…Now what?’_

_Gabe grins, ‘Well, that’s the easy part. You and I already know how this storyline plays out. We can get straight to the good stuff without wasting any time. We already know Crowley and Meg can’t help us – ’ Cas’s face twitches, an involuntary sign of grief, but Gabe has neither the time or the energy, ‘Quit it. She’s not dead yet. Anyway, the boys’ve probably got death’s ring stashed somewhere, right? I say we hold it for ransom in exchange for Sammy’s soul.’_

_‘…And what about the part where Sam doesn’t want his soul forced back into his body?’_

_‘Oh, what? You think I can’t handle the moose kickin’ up a stink?’_

_‘I would feel better if you were at full power. I don’t like the idea of you being on an even playing field.’_

_Gabe shrugs, ‘So I’ll grace up.’_

_‘That comes with its own risks.’_

_‘Can’t have it both ways, squirt.’_

_‘And how should we explain this plan of ours?’ Cas asks, ‘The Winchesters aren’t exactly known for their penchant for blind faith.’_

_‘We don’t have to tell them. We just have to show them.’ Gabe crosses over to the fridge, rummages around till he finds something appetising, comes back with a mars bar._

_‘That is… not a good idea.’_

_‘Why not?’_

_‘Because then they would know.’_

_‘That’s sort of the point, Cassie.’_

_Cas sighs, ‘…Because then_ Dean _would know.’_

_‘What, so that’s a bad thing?’_

_‘It’s not exactly ideal, no.’_

_‘Oh. Alright then.’ Gabriel bites down on the mars bar with a crack that has the same weight as a full stop. Cas quirks an eyebrow._

_‘Alright then?’_

_‘Yeah, no problem. Hey, fuck it, why don’t we just leave Sam’s soul where it is? So what if he’s a fucking psychopath and his soul’s reduced to a tortured lump of shit for all eternity? I mean, it’s a small price to pay when you think of it. Much better than having Dean know you’re head over heels in love with – ’_

_‘Alright!’ Cas snaps, ‘…Alright. I see your point.’_

_‘Knew you’d come round eventually.’_

_‘Perhaps you could… omit certain elements of the narrative? Or only show them up to a certain point.’_

_‘No.’ Gabe replies. He finishes his mars in two bites._

_‘Why not?’_

_‘One, because it’s_ Sam and Dean _. You think they’re gonna be satisfied with just seeing part of the future? If we let on that we know, then they’re gonna hassle us until we show them every last excruciating detail of_ what _we know.’_

_‘…I suppose you’re right.’_

_‘Also, I want Dean to find out you’re head over heels in love with – ’_

_‘Gabriel!’_

_‘What? You think I’m gonna let you dance around each other for a fucking decade?_ Again _? Uh uh, no way in hell. We’re gonna get all this shit out in the open, cards on the table, and then we’ll just take everything as it comes, okay?’_

_‘…What if he’s angry?’_

_‘Then I’ll just break his nose. Worked with the last guy, didn’t it?’_

_‘Not really – ’_

_Gabriel waves a dismissive hand at him, ‘Semantics. Look, it’s gonna be fine, okay? We’ll work it out. We always do. So go get some sleep. Big day tomorrow. Sure you don’t want my bed?’_

_Resistance is futile, Cas knows that. To Gabe the subject is closed. So Cas just shakes his head. ‘The couch will suffice. I would feel… strange waking up next to Sam under normal circumstances, let alone in his current state.’_

_‘Suit yourself.’ He goes to leave but Cas snags his arm at the last second, anchoring him in place._

_‘Please be careful. Sam is… not himself. And you’ve always had something of a soft spot for him.’_

_‘Oh, so the pot’s calling the kettle gay?’ Castiel’s face reddens at the implication, but Gabe only grins. ‘Relax, squirt. I can handle Sam. He might even enjoy it.’_

_‘You’re impossible,’ Cas throws his hands up in exasperation as Gabriel saunters back towards the bedrooms._

_‘At least I’m not a coward,’ Gabe retorts, ‘Go crawl into bed with pretty boy, you chicken.’_

_Cas’s face has never felt so hot and flushed, and he’s sure it’s never been such a bright shade of red._

*

Dean and Cas don’t bother going back to bed. It’s not entirely intentional, but they spend so long sitting at the table, holding hands, looking at each other like fucking _idiots_ (and then Dean vaguely remembers a joint passing between them at some point – he’s far from surprised) that before they know it, it’s the ungodly hour of six am and Gabriel’s bursting into the kitchen to make pancakes.

The archangel glances over his shoulder at the table, where Cas and Dean have quickly pulled their hands back to their respective sides, and winks.

‘Late night, kiddos?’

‘Shut up, Gabe.’ Cas snaps.

‘Yeah, yeah. You making coffee or what? I can’t work that damn thing.’ Gabriel gestures towards the coffee percolator like it might bite him (which frankly isn’t out of the realm of possibility) and Cas gets up from the table with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.

‘You don’t even _drink_ coffee.’ Cas points out. Gabriel glances back towards Dean.

‘ _He_ does. And I know for a fact the moose does too, so chop-chop. Takes like an hour for that thing to do _anything.’_

‘Sam or the coffee machine?’ Cas asks. Gabe grins.

‘Both.’

Dean watches the exchange with thinly-veiled interest. It’s strange, seeing two angels of the lord bicker like… like brothers. They _are_ brothers. Shit. Have they been like this the whole time, and Dean just didn’t know? Did he ever really _ask_ about Cas’s family, or did he just kind of… dismiss them all as winged dicks?

Although to be fair, Gabriel definitely is a winged dick. A winged dick who killed him like a hundred times. But still, maybe he’s not… maybe he’s not a dick all the time? Maybe not where Cas is concerned?

Huh.

Okay, so Dean’s maybe warming to the guy a little.

‘You want chocolate chips in your pancakes, Dean-o?’

Okay, so Dean’s maybe warming to the guy _a lot_.

Once there’s a stack of pancakes in front of Dean and the percolator’s still wheezing along (Gabe really wasn’t kidding about that thing, jeez) Gabriel leans against the kitchen counter and eats his pancakes by hand.

‘A thought occurred,’ he says, and Cas looks up from the hot milk he’s stirring cocoa powder into.

‘Hm?’

‘We can’t tell Sam.’ Gabe announces. Cas’s stirring hand falters ever-so-slightly.

‘Can’t tell Sam what?’ Dean quirks an eyebrow, pancakes forgotten, immediately on the defensive.

‘What we’re gonna tell you,’ Gabe says through a mouthful of pancakes.

‘…What are you gonna tell me?’ Dean asks, but Gabriel cuts him off with a vaguely aggressive hand gesture.

‘Ssh, Dean-o. The grown-ups are talking.’

Dean goes to say that Gabriel looks anything _but_ a grown-up in the stupid pink bathrobe he’s wearing, but Cas speaks before he gets the chance to.

‘I was thinking the same,’ Cas says, ‘I don’t think he’ll be overly agreeable about it, and in his current state it seems unwise to give him the advantage of more information.’

‘ _Exactly_.’

‘But how else are we supposed to get him onside?’

Gabe shoots Dean a pointed look. ‘We might not have to. Dean’s dedication to his brother borders on hysterical.’

‘Says _you_.’

‘Takes one to know one,’ Gabe agrees, ‘So we keep Sam on a need-to-know basis and bring Dean in all the way. We can handle him between the three of us, easy.’

‘I suppose. What do you suggest we do, then?’

‘You stay here, keep American Psycho busy. Get him to stack books or something. He’ll like that, he’s tall.’

‘What about you? What are you and him,’ Cas throws a glance in Dean’s direction, and Dean’s getting real fuckin’ tired of being talked about like he’s not here, ‘Going to do? Is it… is it _wise_ to leave you two to your own devices?’

‘Look, I may not _like_ the guy – ’

‘Feeling’s mutual.’ Dean snaps.

‘But I’m more than capable of spending the day with him without _killing_ him. I’m just gonna take him for a little drive, and we’re gonna have a little talk.’

‘Talk, or show and tell?’ Cas asks. He can already feel his chest tightening at the thought.

‘Whatever it takes,’ Gabe says easily. ‘He’s a big boy, he can handle it.’

Cas’s expression is doubtful, and for Dean, that’s the last straw.

‘Alright. Does somebody wanna tell me what the _hell’s_ going on here?’

Gabe rolls his eyes, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, was the attention _off_ you and the Winchester family saga for a minute? I _do_ apologise. Finish your goddamn pancakes and take a shower if you want one. We’re leaving in ten.’

Gabe storms out of the kitchen, pancakes abandoned, robe flowing out behind him like a fucking cape. Dean looks at Cas, eyebrows up to the ceiling, but Cas only shrugs.

‘The coffee might be ready by the time you get back.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will they ever get coffee from that percolator? Maybe, maybe not. Is Dean gonna have an absolute crisis when Gabe shows him the future? Absolutely. Are we like a chapter away from Destiel?
> 
> ...Maybe


	9. Stuck in the Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2! Did I ACTUALLY take the time to do some Soulless-Sam characterisation? I did! Amazing, right? Let me know if it's any good because I can't exactly keep shuffling him off to separate rooms to keep him out of the story. I mean, I CAN, but I probably shouldn't for the sake of a half-decent narrative. Also, again, difficult chapter title, kinda lame. My idea of using songs as chapter titles was gonna backfire eventually. Still thinking of making a playlist tho. Thanks guys!

Sam _is_ tall, and the old Sam no doubt would have liked stacking books just fine. Soulless Sam, however, is a nightmare, and Cas’s patience is at an all-time low. The whole days is comprised of Sam asking questions ranging from irritating to wildly inappropriate (inappropriate by _Castiel’s_ social standards, which is certainly saying something) while Cas tries to get work done and keep Sam from scaring away all potential customers.

‘So do you have any leads yet or what?’ Sam asks. He’s holding a pile of books that Cas asked him to put on one of the top shelves, but it’s clear he has absolutely no intention of doing that.

‘Yes. Gabriel and Dean are working on it right now.’

‘Without me.’ Sam deadpans.

‘Clearly.’

‘What, because Dean’s being a petty bitch after what happened?’

Cas’s eye twitches. His protective instinct is kicking in, and it takes all the strength he has not to slam Sam into the nearest wall for _letting_ Dean get bitten by a vampire. But he’s not an angel anymore. He’s a five-foot-something stoner that works part-time in a bookshop, and Sam would mop the floor with him. So he keeps his voice even and contained.

‘Dean feels that you’re a liability. I’m inclined to agree.’

Sam snorts. ‘ _I’m_ a liability? Yeah, sure. Okay. Except last time I checked, _he’s_ the one who beat _my_ face in.’

Cas doesn’t respond. He sits down at the front desk and starts scrawling prices into inside covers with a pencil. Pricing books is his least favourite activity – he’d rather be tidying shelves, sweeping up, talking to customers, _anything else_ , really – but he has neater handwriting than Gabriel, and after the I’ll-just-price-everything-at-a-dollar-ninety-five incident, Sara decreed that Gabe was no longer allowed anywhere near the pencils. For a minute, it looks like Sam might actually be something close to useful. He takes a few steps towards the shelf Cas wanted him to reach, then stops.

‘So what’s the lead?’

‘We think Crowley might be able to assist us in retrieving your soul.’ Cas replies, and wonders if it counts as a lie if it was true in an alternate future.

‘Why Crowley?’

Cas looks up from a copy of _Jane Eyre,_ pencil poised. ‘He _is_ a demon. They do tend to have some idea of the goings-on in hell.’

‘What makes you think he’ll help?’

‘He’s more likely to offer assistance than any other demon in our contacts list.’ Cas replies.

‘Hmph.’ Sam says. He takes a few more steps towards the shelf, and Cas dares to hope.

‘What’s your _deal_ , anyway?’

Cas blinks, ‘…My _deal_?’

‘Yeah, you and Gabriel. What are you doing? Playing happy families? Are you guys like a… like a _thing_ now?’

‘I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you don’t mean _thing_ in the sexual sense, given that Gabriel and I are siblings.’

Sam shrugs, ‘Yeah, okay. But you’re not _really_ siblings. Like, not in the technical sense.’

‘Gabriel is as much my brother as Dean is yours,’ Cas says, in a warning tone that quite clearly indicates the subject is closed. Sam either doesn’t notice, or just doesn’t care.

‘Oh, come on. It’s not like you guys grew up together. I mean, it’s not even like you guys _feel_ things the same way like, real people do.’

This is a redundant argument that Cas can’t win, he knows, and it’s not even an argument with the _real Sam_ , so it shouldn’t hurt half as much as it does. But it just hammers home the point that this _isn’t_ Sam, that Sam is gone, because the real Sam would be asking much nicer, far more sensitive questions. The real Sam would listen and understand, and might even sympathise with the perils of an overprotective older sibling. Sam would not question Cas and Gabriel’s bond, and if he did, it would be purely out of concern for Cas’s wellbeing. This is… not that. This is ugly and wrong and again, _redundant_. Cas rises to the bait anyway.

‘Gabriel raised me from a fledgling. Did you know that? I didn’t _have_ anyone else when I was a child. Nobody else cared. I was just a foot solider, destined to raise the Righteous Man from perdition. An insignificant pawn in a cosmic game of chess. But I was more than that to Gabriel. I was _his_ baby brother, _his_ responsibility. Surely _you_ of all people can understand that kind of devotion. The kind of love I feel for him in return.’

But the blank stare on Sam’s face indicates that he only understands it in theory, if at all. Because, again, this isn’t Sam. Not really.

Cas sighs and goes back to the task at hand. ‘Put those books on the top shelf, would you? I’m tired of watching you lug them around.’

Sam looks a little affronted, but he does as he’s asked, and Cas points him into the direction of a new pile of books he can lug around for a while. They pass the day in relative silence, after that.

*

‘What the fuck is _that_?’ Dean balks. They’re standing in the staff car park off to the side of the bookshop, face-to-face with the ugliest heap of shit Dean’s ever laid eyes on.

‘That’s our _car_ , you asshole.’ Gabe snaps. ‘Come on, get in. I got other shit to do today, you know. This isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.’

The car (and Dean uses the term loosely) is an olive green two-door Gremlin with a dream catcher hanging from the rear view mirror. The paint job’s a wreck, it’s covered in rust, and if the thing runs at all it’ll be an act of divine intervention. To Dean’s horror, Gabe gently strokes the car’s hood as he passes, like it’s an object of affection instead of an eldritch horror abomination. Dean walks around to the passenger side and balks again. Unlike the rest of the car, the passenger door is bright yellow.

‘Yeah,’ Gabe says, ‘Cassie really did a number on the original door a few months back. Had to replace it.’

‘And you couldn’t get one in the same colour? Or, you know, paint it?’

‘I’m not made of money. Besides, I think it gives it character.’

The inside of the car smells like weed. Gabriel pushes a heap of maps and street directories off the passenger seat so Dean has somewhere to sit, then digs around in the back seat for his sunglasses. Dean wrinkles his nose and tries to wind down his window, only to find that the crank’s busted. Great.

‘Jesus, do you _grow_ pot in this car or something?’

‘Nah. Although Cassie did keep his plants in the trunk for a while when we were in between apartments. Keeps em’ on the balcony now. The smell’s just from all the smoking. We’re not _technically_ supposed to light up in the apartment.’

Gabriel sticks the key in the ignition and the car sputters to life with a wheeze and a whine as the archangel puts it in reverse.

‘Attaboy, Stripe.’ Gabe mutters. Dean raises an eyebrow.

‘ _Stripe?’_

‘Yeah, you know. From Gremlins? Cause the car’s a Gremlin, get it? Cas loves that fuckin’ film.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Sulked for a week when I told him mogwais weren’t real.’

Dean smiles, amused at the thought, but it’s quickly wiped off his face when Gabe turns on the radio and they get an earful of Tom Jones. Gabe turns down the dial quick smart, clearly shaken by the noise.

‘Damnit, squirt! Volume control! We’ve talked about this!’

But Dean’s a little more distracted by the _content_ of the music than the volume.

‘Tom _Jones_?’

Gabe shakes his head, ‘Don’t. Kid’s absolutely smitten. It’s like living with a middle-aged mother of three.’

Dean has no response. What’s he supposed to say? And then Gabriel’s peeling out of the car park with a squeal of the tires to the tune of fucking _Sexbomb_ , and Dean’s thrown violently against the passenger door due to pure gravitational force. He’s not a wimp – he’s a reckless driver at the best of times, and Sam can attest to that – but Gabe’s a fucking _psycho_ behind the wheel. He pulls into traffic without looking, cuts off some guy in a beat-up sedan, and weaves in and out of traffic at least five times over the speed limit. They’re going to get pulled over, Dean’s sure of it.

They don’t. Dean can only assume it’s some kind of angel thing. He _hopes_ so, because otherwise he’s trapped in a car with a suicidal maniac, and he’s not sure he can take the humiliation of tuck and rolling out a Gremlin at a hundred and fifty miles an hour. He didn’t even know Gremlins could _go_ that fast, let alone _this_ Gremlin, which looks like it’s about to explode in a cloud of smoke at any minute.

‘Jesus,’ he says through gritted teeth. Gabe grins.

‘ _Relax_. There’s half a joint in the ashtray if you want it.’

‘No thanks.’ Dean mutters, but it opens a topic of discussion that might help get his mind off the cyclist they may or may not have just murdered. ( _She got right back up!_ Gabe insists, but Dean’s too scared to look.) ‘What is it with you guys and the pot-smoking, anyway? Do angels just have a penchant for whacky tobacky or something?’

‘It helps with Cas’s anxiety attacks,’ Gabe replies, ‘It’s about the only thing that does.’

And once again, Dean feels like a grade-A asshole.

‘Cas has anxiety attacks?’

Gabe nods, ‘Bad ones. Night terrors too. He won’t talk about it much, doesn’t like to, but they kinda petered off once we started smoking. It’s probably not exactly _responsible_ big brother behaviour, encouraging him like that, but it helps him. Means I can actually get some shuteye at night.’

Dean nods, because he gets it. He’d probably do the same for Sam if he thought it’d help.

‘Oh, and just so we’re clear, don’t insult the car in front of him okay? He loves this thing.’

Dean glances around at the car’s underwhelming, vaguely depressing interior, and frowns.

‘ _Why?_ ’

‘Because it’s his car, and because owning a car is like, the most important thing to him _ever_. He’s proud of it.’

‘…Again, _why_?’

‘Because your car is important to _you_ , dumbass. You should see the way he dotes on this thing. You think I had anything to do with getting it up and running? All him. And when he nearly totaled the damn thing when I was teaching him to drive? I thought he was gonna have a fucking nervous breakdown. I _might’ve_ been able to find a door to match if I’d had more time, but I was so fucking worried about him, I took whatever I could get. So don’t insult the damn car, okay? You’ll kill him, and then I’ll have to kill you, and it’ll be a whole mess.’

Dean looks down at his lap, embarrassed but oddly touched. He feels that same rush of affection in his chest and bites his lip to hide his smile.

‘Okay,’ he mutters, ‘No insulting the car. Got it.’

Gabe shoots him a glance, eyes unreadable from behind his crappy green-tinted aviators, and frowns just a little.

‘So you wanna tell me why you and my baby brother were holding hands at the kitchen table this morning?’

‘I… wh- we weren’t – ’

‘Cut the shit. I might be powered down right now, but I’m still an archangel. And even if I wasn’t, I have _eyes_. Just… don’t fuck with him, okay? He’s been through enough shit.’

‘I – ’

‘I _mean_ it, Winchester. I’m not above caving your face in, Righteous Man or no.’

‘You’re real serious about all this big brother shit, huh?’ Dean asks, not at all phased by the suggestion of a beating. He figures if he ever hurts Cas, he deserves a good punch in the face. Which… where the _hell_ did that come from? He and Cas aren’t – they’re not -

‘Deadly serious,’ Gabe says evenly, derailing Dean’s potentially dangerous train of thought.

‘…Mind if I ask why? Why now?’

‘You and Cas didn’t get to that last night? Or were you too busy making eyes at each other?’

Dean blushes. He feels like he’s sixteen again, being interrogated by some girl’s father, and he doesn’t like it one bit, because again, they’re not _that_. Cas would never –

‘We were – we talked about… other stuff.’

Which is true. They talked about the bookshop and records and Ben and Lisa and Sam. And yeah, okay, there was a lot of silent staring at each other. So what? Dean’s only human, and Cas is _hot_.

‘Right, other stuff.’ Gabriel grins, ‘I get you.’

‘So what’s the deal? What made you give a shit?’

‘I’ve _always_ given a shit. Hell, I raised the kid. I’m minding my own business, doing whatever I want, and suddenly God’s shoving a fledgling into my arms and telling me it’s _my_ responsibility now, that I have to look after it, and then… everyone’s _surprised_ when I get attached?’

‘You… you raised _Cas_?’

‘More or less. He was kind of an easy kid to raise, truth be told.’

‘Cas was a _baby_?’

‘Yeah, once. The angel equivalent anyway. Cutest little fledgling heaven ever saw, and you can quote me on that.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Told you. I got attached, everyone was shocked. They confiscated him, reprogrammed him, then I fought tooth and nail to get him back. Rinse and repeat, and so it went. Right up until they started… _using_ him, to keep me in line. So I backed off. Fast forward another few hundred years and he’s part of the garrison that’s set to yank the Righteous Man out of hell. I wasn’t consulted, all that prophecy and destiny bullshit. It was basically a _suicide_ mission, Dean, and I couldn’t do anything. That’s around the time I went AWOL – time’s different in heaven, don’t forget. And if I was a little harsh on you back in my trickster days, I’m not sorry. You’re the reason my baby brother marched into hell, and that’s not something I can just overlook.’

Dean looks out the window – there isn’t much point, everything’s blurry at this speed – because it’s easier than looking at Gabe. He gets it, he _totally_ gets it, but that doesn’t mean he has to say it out loud.

‘Any old how, things were pretty frosty between us for a while. And then he uh… well. You were there. You saw what Lucifer did to him. Call it the straw that broke the camel’s back.’

‘Right.’

‘That’s the cliff notes version of it, anyway. You’ll get the full story in a sec.’ Gabriel makes a sudden right-hand turn that may or may not cause a minor highway pileup. Once again, Dean’s a little too scared to look.

‘Where the hell are we going?’

‘Oh, just this big old empty field I kinda like the look of. Seems like a relatively safe spot.’

‘…For what?’

‘For what I’m gonna show you. If you react _anything_ like the way Cas did, it’s gonna get ugly. I don’t want the apartment to get trashed, and Cas made me promise you wouldn’t get any more hurt than necessary. And how much damage could you possibly do in a big empty field?’ Gabe pauses, ‘That’s not a challenge, just so we’re clear. It’s in everybody’s best interest that this goes as smoothly as possible.’

‘And this is what you can’t tell Sam about?’

‘We think Sam’d be one hell of a liability with this kind of info, yeah.’

Dean snorts, ‘Guy’s _already_ a liability.’

‘Yeah, you’re telling me. You know he shoved me out of bed last night? I mean he actually, intentionally, _shoved_ me onto the floor. Said I was taking up too much room.’

‘Yeah, well. He let me get bitten by a vampire, so. Think I win.’

‘If he does anything to Cas while we’re gone, I’ll – ’ Gabriel says.

‘Yeah, I know.’ Dean mutters, because he does know. And after everything that’s happened, he’s finding it harder and harder to jump to Sam’s defense. The thought makes him sick, and he _really_ doesn’t wanna unpack it. ‘…So we’re going to go to a big empty field so you can, what? Tell me some bad news?’

‘I’m not gonna tell you anything. I’m gonna _show_ you.’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Zachariah and I had a little… talk, before everything between Mike and Lucy went down.’

Dean stiffens, ‘…Zachariah?’

‘Yeah. And before you ask, the intel was legit. Zach’s a powerful guy, but lying to an archangel’s well above his pay grade.’

‘So what’d he show you?’

Gabriel’s smile is tense, tight, and uncomfortable. ‘Wait and see.’ He says, and he won’t say anything else.

*

The field is as big and empty as Gabriel promised, and the archangel wastes no time. He’s out of the car as soon as he cuts the ignition, jumping the fence and striding out to the middle of the field under the assumption that Dean is hot on his heels. He’s right, of course. Dean is a bundle of nerves and questions, but he knows better than to hold up the proceedings. Wouldn’t want to, anyway. He’s almost sick with curiosity.

‘Alright, let’s get this show on the road.’ Gabe reaches into his shirt and pulls out a vial of blue light suspended on a chain. ‘You know the drill, shield your eyes.’

Dean does. When he uncovers them, everything looks exactly the same, but Gabriel looks… holier, somehow. A little more powerful.

‘You’ve been hanging onto your grace this whole time?’ Dean asks.

‘What’d you think I was gonna do? Hide it in a tree? Come on, let’s keep things moving. Every second I’m juiced up is another second the assholes upstairs can use to track my location, and the warding tattoos won’t buy us nearly as much time as I’d like.’

He closes the distance between them, arm up, two fingers extended. Dean holds still, waiting, but Gabriel pauses at the last second, fingers hovering about an inch away from Dean’s forehead.

‘This is gonna _suck_ , Dean-o. I mean, it’s gonna be awful. Forget Zachariah’s version of 2014, I can’t just zap you in there as an active party like he can. You’re gonna have to live through it like you’re actually _living_ through it. Out here, it’ll take about a minute, tops. In there? It’s gonna feel like years, and you won’t be able to remember it’s all an illusion, either.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ve been to hell, Gabe. I’ve done the whole time difference thing. Just zap me okay? Get it over with.’

Gabe shrugs, ‘Sure thing. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. And…sorry, by the way. This really is gonna suck.’

Gabe touches his fingers to Dean’s forehead, and for a second everything goes black. And then he’s waking up in a room he doesn’t recognise, looking at Sam, who _should_ be in the cage but _isn’t_ , and then it’s on. He has no memory of the outside world, just lives it out – all of it – exactly the way he’s supposed to.

And so it goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna leave you guys with THAT cliffhanger for a couple days. Sorry, not sorry. :)


	10. Veteran of the Psychic Wars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DESTIEL! DESTIEL! DESTIEL!

_Because the one thing I want... it's something I know I can't have._

_Why does this sound like a goodbye?_

_Because it is._

_I love you._

*

When Dean comes back to himself, it’s with a gut-wrenching scream that pleases Gabriel way more than it should. He blinks, looks around. Gabe can see the cogs turning in the poor guy’s mind, trying to piece it all together. For a second, the archangel thinks he might get it, but then Dean falls to his knees and vomits. Twice. So maybe he doesn’t get it after all.

‘Ah, shit. Okay.’ Gabe crouches down and puts a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Dean-o. Snap out of it, you’re alright. We’re in the year 2010, you’re okay, Cassie’s okay, everyone’s okay.’

Dean looks up. He sways on his knees, unsteady. ‘Cas?’

‘Yeah, Cassie’s fine. He’s back at the bookshop, he’s okay.’

Things are getting a little clearer, but Dean can’t quite bring himself to believe. To allow that kind of hope.

‘Call him.’ He says.

‘What?’

‘Call Cas. Call him. You need to call him.’

Gabe rolls his eyes, fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. ‘Okay, okay. Man, you’re pushy.’

Cas answers on the second ring, just like Gabe knew he would, because when he’s on the clock Cas’ll only answer to the bookshop phone.

‘ _Bound to Please, this is Casper speaking. How can I help?’_

They can hear Sam in the background, mimicking Cas’s polite customer service voice. Well, at least they haven’t murdered each other. Yet.

‘Cas, it’s me. Would you kindly confirm that you are in fact alive and well in the year of our lord two thousand and ten?’

There’s a pause.

‘Is Dean alright?’

‘ _Cas_?’ Dean chokes, and Gabriel rolls his eyes.

‘I swear to God, Dean-o, if you start sobbing at me I won’t be held responsible for my actions.’

‘ _Gabe, please. Dean’s obviously in shock.’_

Dean lunges for the phone then, presses it to his ear like it’s a lifeline.

‘Cas? Cas is that you? You’re alright?’

_‘I’m alright, Dean, really. What Gabe showed you hasn’t even happened yet. It probably won’t happen at all, now that Gabriel’s altered the timeline.’_

‘Cas I – I have to tell you, I need… I need to – ’

Dean isn’t sure _what_ he needs, other than Cas. Doesn’t know what to say, how to ask. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Cas, like always, already knows.

_‘Come home, Dean.’_

Home, yes, okay. The word doesn’t even sound strange in this context, not even when Dean remembers that Cas is referring to the bookshop – a place Dean has only been once or twice – instead of the bunker. Because Cas isn’t referring to that at all, and they both know it. Home isn’t a place, it’s a person. It’s Cas, and Dean needs to get there as soon as fucking possible.

‘I’m on my way.’ He croaks, hangs up the phone, tosses it to Gabe, staggers back towards the car. Dean’s never been so happy to see a car that isn’t Baby. He throws open the mismatched passenger door and climbs in, inhaling the scent of pot and incense and Chinese takeout. Gabe’s hot on his heels, for once seeming to understand the urgency of a situation, and when he sticks the key in the ignition and the sound of Tom Jones fills the car once again, Dean laughs. Actually fucking _laughs_.

Suddenly, he _loves_ Tom Jones.

Gabe still drives like a madman (of course he does, Dean reminds himself, because he hasn’t been _away_ for ten years – probably hasn’t even been away ten minutes.) but it’s still too slow for Dean’s liking.

‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’ Dean snaps. Gabe raises an eyebrow.

‘Actually, no. It’s a Gremlin, not a sport’s car. This is about the limit.’

Dean mutters something derogatory about the car under his breath, and Gabe frowns.

‘I heard that.’ He says.

‘Whatever.’

Gabe shakes his head, stuck somewhere between amused and concerned. ‘…You know, you’re taking this a hell of a lot better than Cas did.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah. Poor kid ran around screaming for about a half-hour. Broke a lamp when I started telling him where he was, and when I told him the year he freaked out and punched a clock. Got us kicked outta the motel room, too. Thus the big empty field idea.’

Dean’s only half-listening. He’s too busy replaying it in his mind. What Cas said, the sad smile on his face, the way he’d looked when the empty took him.

‘Is it true?’ He asks suddenly, not even quite sure what he’s asking.

‘I told you, the intel’s legit. Zach may be an asshole, but he’s a _terrible_ liar.’

‘No, I mean. What Cas said – is it… is it true?’

Gabe sighs, ‘Yeah, it’s true. You think he’d lie about something like that?’

‘Cas…’

‘Loves you? Yeah, I was surprised too. Well, maybe surprised is the wrong word. Disappointed, disgusted, horrified – ’

‘Why didn’t he say anything?’

‘He _did_ , and look how _that_ turned out. I mean, talk about bury your gays. Dad really is an _asshole_.’

Dean flinches at the mention, but Gabe only smiles.

‘Oh, don’t worry. Cas and I have plans for daddy dearest. Bobby’s probably working on it as we speak.’

Dean does a double-take, suddenly dumbfounded. ‘Bobby _knows_?’ 

‘ _Duh_. You think you’re the first one to catch the Rapture Horror Picture Show? Oh, Dean-o, you’re not even in the top three.’

‘He never said – ’

‘Yeah, cause Bobby’s not a moron. If this whole _saving the world_ schtick was down to him in the first place, he’d have smashed it out in a weekend and still had time to catch a ball game.’

And damn, Dean hates how _right_ that is.

‘Also, Bobby and Cas were both _adamant_ that you should be allowed to continue playing house with Laura.’

‘Lisa,’ Dean corrects, mostly without realising it. He’s a little too deep inside his own head at the moment to really pay attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

‘Whatever. We kinda figured things’d go better for you when Sam came back topside. Of course, that was back when we thought I’d managed to snag his soul, too. I guess I probably should have double-checked, but Cas was sick and Raphael was tracking my grace, and frankly I just didn’t have time. Bobby’s gonna kill me when he finds out, you know.’

Dean smiles, but then he remembers that he’s just come from a future where Bobby’s all kinds of dead, and the realisation that Bobby is in fact alive and well makes him grin like an idiot. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so grateful about anything since, well. Since ever. He feels like he’s won the fucking lottery.

‘Yeah,’ Gabe agrees, because _of course_ he’s using his grace to read Dean’s mind, ‘I kind felt like that afterwards, too. Like you’ve been given a second chance to not fuck everything up.’

Dean nods, ‘…Yeah.’

‘That reminds me. Sam been hangin’ around Samuel Campbell?’

‘...Oh, _shit_ ,’ Dean mutters, ‘None of that – it hasn’t happened yet, has it? My grandfather’s still alive?’

‘He is. He _shouldn’t_ be, but he is. You ever tried arguing with Crowley? It’s not easy.’ Gabe flips down the sun visor and a long stream of paper unravels, more or less blocking his view of the road. His driving doesn’t falter – damn angel powers.

On closer inspection, the ream of paper is a very long, very messy to-do list. Interspersed between mundane activities such as _Rotate Tires_ and _Return Blockbuster Rentals_ , Gabe’s messy scrawl and Cas’s neat block print alternate in writing out tasks like _Smite Raphael_ and _Kill God_. At the bottom of the list, Gabe writes _Gank Grandaddy Campbell_ in red pen. He shoots Dean a look, eyebrow slightly raised.

‘Any objections?’

‘…He’s not a _bad_ guy, Gabe.’

‘No, but he doesn’t belong here. He should be up in heaven somewhere, with your mother and grandmother. Down here, he’s just gonna cause all kinds of problems.’

‘…I guess.’

‘Natural order of things, Dean-o. Besides, Cassie’s been nagging me to get it done for months now. I’ll do it today, while I’m still all juiced up. Maybe return those videos on the way back. Think we’ve got a late fee due on Suspiria.’

‘…You guys watched Suspiria?’

Gabe snorts, ‘Cas did. I think he’s working out some leftover soldier bloodlust, or something.’

It’s a weird thought, and one that _completely_ contradicts the whole peace-loving hippie persona Cas has got going on. Dean says as much, but Gabe just shrugs.

‘What can I say? Guy’s got layers. Like an onion, or a Winchester when it isn’t even cold out.’

‘Funny.’ Dean mutters. ‘So… was Zach trying to _help_ us, or what?’

‘Oh, I doubt it. He certainly didn’t look too pleased when I stabbed him in the fucking throat.’

‘Zach’s _dead_?’

‘Lotta people are. I’ve been busy.’ Gabe rounds a corner and Dean swears he can see the bookshop in the distance. It takes all the willpower he has not to leap out of the car and start sprinting. He shakes his head instead, trying to clear the effects of information overload. All he can really focus on right now is Cas, and everything else just seems insignificant, somehow. Like a distraction.

‘…So why’d Zach show you? Just to piss you off?’

‘Pretty much. Zach never really grasped the concept of free will. Didn’t _actually_ think I’d do anything to stop it. And Zach’s always had it in for me, ever since day one. I was always kind of the black sheep of the archangel family, no matter what Lucifer says. Lot of people didn’t think I deserved the position. And Cas has always been a… weak spot of mine.’

‘So he just… showed you for no reason? Just to be petty?’

Gabe snorts, ‘Where’ve you been? Heaven’s all about being _petty_. We were created by the pettiest motherfucker this side of anywhere, or haven’t you been paying attention?’

‘…Good point.’

They stop at a traffic light, painfully close to the storefront. Dean can’t seem to sit still.

‘So,’ Gabe says, and then pauses to clear his throat, ‘Do you wanna address the elephant in the room, or should I?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You know _damn well_ what it means. You’ve just come from a future where my brother tells you he’s in love with you, and then _dies_. And we’re about to walk into a place where he’s very much alive. What are you gonna say?’

‘I don’t… I don’t know.’

Gabe sighs, ‘Look. I’m not exactly your number one fan. I mean, how _could_ I be after watching all of that? But I’m also not a jerk, and I’m not about to micromanage my brother’s love life, or dictate who he can and can’t be with. And… between you and me, you are kind of an improvement on the last dickwad he brought home.’

‘I… thanks? I think?’

‘No problem. But if you fuck this up, if you hurt him, like at all? I’ll do more than break your nose, Dean-o. I’ll fucking _kill_ you.’

‘I kinda figured that.’

‘You’ve got a chance to do things right this time around. And quite frankly? Future-you is an _asshole_ where my brother’s concerned. You pull any of that same bullshit, and you’re out the door. I didn’t resurrect my brother, defy heaven, rip out my grace and change the fucking _future_ just to have you burst in and put on the same fucking record. Got it?’

Dean swallows. ‘…Got it.’

‘Great!’ Suddenly Gabriel slams his foot on the accelerator, and the Gremlin lurches through the crowded intersection on a red light to a chorus of horns and horrified screams. Unphased, Gabriel slides into the staff car park and cuts the engine. ‘Okay, show time. Go get em’ tiger.’

Dean doesn’t have to be told twice. He throws himself out of the Gremlin and takes off towards the bookshop faster than he’s ever run anywhere in his _life_. He throws the shop door open and a bell clatters as the handle hits the drywall hard enough to leave a mark. He skids to a stop at the front desk, crestfallen to find that Cas isn’t there. For a split second he dares to think that this was all some cruel trick, just some more of Gabriel’s trickster bullshit, and if that’s true he knows it’ll kill him. He won’t even have the energy to be _mad_ about it. He’ll just collapse into a heap and cry.

‘Cas? Cas?!’ He calls out, heart hammering in his chest at an alarming rate.

‘I’m here, Dean.’ Cas emerges from behind a row of shelves, looking _impossibly_ young and unbearably cute, dressed in jeans and a Fleetwood Mac t-shirt like that _isn’t_ the sexiest shit in the world. Cas is alive, and here, and ten years _younger_ , and Dean’s forgotten how to breathe. Cas looks embarrassed, uncomfortable. He keeps talking, almost babbling, like he doesn’t know how else to react. ‘I apologise. I had intended to wait for you, but Sam made things… difficult. He’s emptied an entire shelf out of boredom, and had to be persuaded to put things back to rights.’

‘Cas,’ Dean says again. It seems to be about the only word he remembers how to say. Cas smiles, still looking apprehensive.

‘I’m here, Dean. I’m alright, I promise.’

And that snaps Dean out of it. Because Cas _is_ here, and he _is_ alright, and that’s more than Dean ever could have hoped for. He closes the distance between them, takes Cas’s face in his hands and tilts his head from side to side like he’s examining him for any signs of damage.

‘You’re… you’re really okay?’ He whispers. Cas nods.

‘I’m okay.’ He agrees, ‘Are _you_?’

Dean laughs, because to him the question seems fucking absurd. _He’s_ not the one who just got sucked into the empty after all. He’s not the one who stood there with a big stupid smile and just _let_ it take him. He’s not the one who said _I love you_ without expecting a damn thing in return.

_Because the one thing I want... it's something I know I can't have._

Oh, shit.

Dean grips Cas’s face just a little bit tighter, closes the last shred of space between them and plasters the ex-angel’s face with frantic, uncoordinated kisses. He kisses Cas everywhere he can reach, quick pecks to his cheeks and nose and forehead and eyelids and temples and _everywhere_ , pausing only to babble embarrassing, incoherent sentences that must sound all kinds of stupid.

‘Cas, baby, me too. I love you too, Cas, me too. Missed you, I can’t, I thought I lost you, Cas, I thought – I love you, okay? Me too, I love you. I love you.’

He’s never said those words out loud to anyone, except maybe to Sam. There was a time (and it really wasn’t that long ago – a matter of minutes in _either_ reality) where the very idea of loving someone had him running for the door. But not now, not anymore. Never again.

‘I love you,’ He mutters, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’

Suddenly Cas’s hands are on him, gripping his wrists, holding him steady, and it takes Dean a second to realise that Cas is speaking too, trying to catch Dean’s lips with his own but settling for murmuring against Dean’s skin instead.

‘I love you too,’ he breathes, ‘I love you too, I love you too, I love you too, Dean, you have no idea.’

Finally Dean manages to get just a little less hysterical, is able to stop himself from _attacking_ Cas’s face with his mouth and just _look_ at him, look at this incredible chance he’s been given after a _lifetime_ of never getting what he wants. He strokes the pad of his thumb down Cas’s cheek, wipes away a tear. He didn’t realise Cas was crying, but then he realises that _he’s_ crying too, and god, they’re a mess.

‘I love you,’ Cas whispers, ‘Kiss me.’

And how the hell is Dean supposed to say _no_ to that? He presses their lips together, soft and chaste at first, and then a little more heated as they fall into more of a rhythm. Cas swipes his tongue across Dean’s bottom lip (where the _hell_ did he learn to do _that_?) and Dean automatically opens up, moaning a little when Cas’s tongue slips into his mouth. His hands move from Cas’s face to the back of his neck while Cas’s arms move to wrap around his waist and pull them impossibly closer together, and there’s electricity humming through Dean’s veins, sparks flying at his mouth, and this has _got_ to be the best kiss anybody’s ever had, _ever_. He threads his fingers through Cas’s hair and tugs just a little bit, grinning against the angel’s mouth when Cas lets out a little gasp and a moan. God, this is awesome. This is _so_ fucking awesome, and how the hell did they manage to go ten years without _doing_ this?

They _didn’t_ , he reminds himself, because that future hasn’t happened yet, but he still feels a pang of regret at the perceived loss. Because they did still waste time, at least as far as he can tell. He should have grabbed Cas and kissed him from the second he saw him in that goddamn barn, although admittedly that might’ve got him smited on site. Worth it though, definitely. He’d die for a kiss like this, easy.

The bookshop bell clatters again and Gabriel clears his throat.

‘Oh, good. I was worried you two were going to overreact and have a huge disgusting romantic breakdown. Thank god that’s not the case.’

‘Shut up Gabe,’ Cas’s voice sounds more like a growl and it shoots straight to Dean’s groin, even though they’re in a public place and Sam’s around somewhere and Gabriel’s standing _right fucking there_. ‘This has been ten years in the making,’ he adds, and then he slams their lips together again.

And while Gabe storms past them to go look for Sam and Cas starts sucking on Dean’s bottom lip in a way that is absolutely filthy but so, so hot, he comes to a realisation. Except, not really, because he thinks he’s always known – it’s just something he hasn’t allowed himself to really think about.

Saving people, hunting things, and the family business, it’s all well and good, but it’s not what he wants out of life. Not anymore. Maybe he never did. He liked the apple pie life with Lisa and Ben, liked the warped and bastardised version of it that the Djinn made for him a few years back, but always felt that there was something fundamental missing from the equation. He thinks he knows what it was, now. He thinks it must have been Cas.

He doesn’t _want_ to hunt anymore, not really. Maybe on occasion, if it’s an easy fight or he absolutely has to (or if, god forbid, Cas wants to) but not on a serious level. Not as a lifestyle. Not anymore. What he wants, all he wants, is right here in front of him, wrapped up in tie dye and denim and reeking of pot. Cas, always Cas, in any form he can get. For as long as Cas will have him. It’s a terrifying revelation, but a liberating one, too. It’s a relief to be honest with himself, to be able to look at the life that’s been laid out for him and utter a firm _“No Thanks.”_ He’s not sure what a new life might look like, if he and Cas’ll stay here or go somewhere else, if they’ll help out with everything that’s gonna go down in the next ten years or if they’ll simply drop off the map. It’s probably selfish, to think of things like that. To imagine a life where he and Cas just take off and go hide out in the country somewhere. But fuck it, he’s allowed to be selfish. He’s earned it, and hell, he’ll still do what he can about the whole end of the world shit, because he _knows_ he can’t just walk away. Knows Cas can’t either. But Cas – _this_ – has to be his priority now. It _has_ to, or they’ll end up right back where they started. And the thought of an ending where Cas is in the empty and Dean is alone is horrible and unthinkable and Dean won’t _allow_ it, he _won’t_. He pulls Cas closer and holds him tighter and kisses him harder and swears, promises, right here and now, that things will be different, this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys :))


	11. Think I'm In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry it took me a hot minute to update - uni started up again and I've had that fun experience of trying to generate some kind of healthy school/work/life balance. I think I've mostly got it handled, so here we are! Couple more mentions of sex work in this chapter (It's going somewhere with regards to the Dean/Gabriel friendship I intend to force) so be aware. Mostly just Destiel fluff while I try and shunt Soulless!Sam from room to room. We're gonna resolve that soon I SWEAR. Thanks so much guys!

Gabe got Sam to cut his grace out, and if the way he’s rubbing his throat is any indication, Sam wasn’t gentle about it. The grace is back in a vial around Gabriel’s neck, and he’s back to looking human again. Well, mostly. Because when Dean walks back into the apartment, hand in hand with Cas, the gratitude he feels is immeasurable. None of this would have happened without Gabriel’s intervention, and the thought leaves Dean in awe. Human or otherwise, Gabriel’s just about the holiest thing Dean’s ever laid eyes on (‘Cept maybe for Cas) and Dean has to resist the urge to throw himself at the other man’s feet. Gabriel stands up from his seat at the kitchen table when Cas and Dean come back in (Sam stays seated, staring at their linked hands with an unreadable expression) so Dean goes in for a hug that surprises him as much as anybody. He drops Cas’s hand and throws his arms around Gabriel’s neck, pulling him into a bear hug that should absolutely crush _bones_ , confirming Dean’s theory that Gabe has just a little bit of angel mojo lingering in his bloodstream at all times. Gabriel seems startled, staggers back for a sec, then snickers and pats Dean’s back.

‘Thank you.’ Dean says.

‘I didn’t do it for _you_.’ Gabe replies, but there’s no malice in it.

‘I know,’ Dean agrees, ‘You did it for him, and that’s even better. So thank you.’

‘…You’re welcome.’ Gabe mumbles, and reluctantly wraps his arms around Dean in a kind of half-hug before stepping away.

‘Does somebody wanna tell me what the hell’s going on?’ Sam asks. Three voices say _no_ at the exact same time. And god, Sam looks so _young,_ even without his soul. Frankly, Dean had kind of forgotten about the whole Sam situation, but now that it’s back at the forefront of his mind, he suddenly has all kinds of questions. He’s all caught up on the narrative now, but there are things that don’t add up. Cas is graceless for a start, one hundred per cent human, so there’s no _way_ he pulled Sam out of the cage. But if he didn’t… then?

‘Not the time, Dean-o.’ Gabe says. Okay, so apparently Dean’s so obvious that Gabe doesn’t actually _need_ grace to read his mind. Great. Fortunately though, Gabe and Dean are – for once – on the same page. They’ve both seen the future, after all. When it comes to Sam’s soul, they both know what the solution is.

‘Alright,’ Dean starts, because Sam’s a stubborn shit on a good day, but soulless Sam’s a real pain in the ass, ‘Upshot of it is, we know how to get your soul back.’

‘We’re gonna make a deal with death,’ Gabe adds, ‘Your soul for his ring. Fair trade.’

‘And if that doesn’t work?’ Sam asks.

‘It’ll work,’ Dean and Gabriel speak in unison, and Cas makes no effort to hide his smirk of amusement. Sam looks away for a second, frowning the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

‘Maybe we… maybe we shouldn’t bother.’

‘ _What_?’ Gabriel and Dean speak at the same time again, and goddamn, this whole unison thing is getting kinda creepy. Maybe it has something to do with them both being older brothers? Do they understand each other on a more profound level now, or something? Are they… are they friends? Ugh.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t bother,’ Sam continues, ‘I’m a better hunter without it, Dean. I could do a lot of good, save a lot of people? You know, like I’m supposed to?’

‘Sam, it’s your _soul_. You kinda _need_ it.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says everyone!’ Dean waves his hands in exasperation, unsure of how else to hammer the point home.

‘What about Adam?’ Sam asks, ‘He’s still in there. Shouldn’t you be concentrating on getting him out or something?’

It _sounds_ like something Sam would say, but the dead look in his eyes indicates he doesn’t _actually_ give a shit about Adam’s wellbeing. He’s just using the kid as some kind of distraction. Creepy.

‘We’re working on it,’ Gabriel replies, although they technically _weren’t_. ‘Takes a lot of juice to yank somebody out of the pit, you know. It’s not exactly a two for one type deal.’

‘So who got me out?’

‘Does it matter?’ Dean shoots back, mostly because he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer, and there’s no way this conversation can end well.

‘Kinda, yeah!’ Sam looks at each of the three of them in turn, like he’s doing some kind of equation in his head. Wasn’t Dean – obviously – couldn’t have been Cas, so that leaves –

_‘You?!’_ Sam stands up and Gabriel steps back on instinct, forcing a smile that looks anything but natural.

‘Don’t sound so put out about it, Moose. A thank you would be nice.’

‘ _You_ brought me out of hell?’

Gabe hesitates, nods. ‘…uh, _I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition_? Is that what I’m supposed to say?’

‘That’s my line.’ Cas replies.

‘Yeah, like I’d have come up with anything that _gay_. God, why didn’t you just bust out the rainbows and the condoms and save us all some time?’

‘Not helpful,’ Dean grunts, although it is a fun image he’ll have to revisit later.

‘You… you brought me out of hell, but you _left_ my _soul_ behind?’

‘…A minor oversight on my part,’ Gabe admits, ‘But again, cut me some slack. You ever tried dragging somebody out of Lucifer’s cage? That shit’s _scary_. Forgive me if I wasn’t taking inventory as I went.’

‘And you didn’t go back for it because…?’

‘Because I could barely get enough strength up to head down there in the first place! And until you turned up on my doorstep, I didn’t even know it was _missing_. What _is_ this? Twenty questions? Why don’t you go interrogate somebody else for a while, huh?’

Sam blinks, ‘Okay, fine.’

He turns to Dean and Cas, gesturing towards their hands, which have – at some point – somehow ended up tangled together again.

‘What are you doing?’ Sam asks, and Dean really, _really_ doesn’t want to beat the shit out of his brother a second time in less than a week, but the guy’s not making it easy.

‘I believe the kids these days call it holding hands.’ Cas deadpans. Gabriel throws himself back into a dining chair.

‘Yeah, it’s one step behind suckin’ face and rotatin’ tongues, but your brother never was a very straight forward guy, Sammy. Always did like to do things out of order.’

‘Gabriel,’ Cas mutters, ‘You’re not helping.’

‘Well, forgive me for trying to diffuse some of the tension.’ Gabe snaps.

Cas beams at the praise and squeezes Dean’s hand affectionately. Dean squeezes back, oddly proud. Sam says nothing, just regards them with a kind of blank expression that makes Dean feel all kinds of uncomfortable.

‘Cas and I are uh… we’re…’ _What_ are they, exactly? Maybe this was the wrong approach.

‘I’m gay,’ Cas supplies, and for once Dean’s grateful for the guy’s blunt, no nonsense approach. ‘Dean and I have not discussed it, but I suspect he is at least bisexual. At present, we have decided we are in love with each other, which will most likely lead to us having intercourse at some point in the foreseeable future. Beyond that, we have not decided the nature of our relationship.’

Dean says nothing, and he just _knows_ his face has gotta be bright red. Gabe has his hand clapped over his mouth, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. But Sam, well. Sam just looks bored.

‘Oh.’ He says, ‘Okay.’

Dean’s been envisioning this moment for years now, though he never expected to actually have to go through with it. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to come out to Sam, possibly the most important person in his life, even though Sam’s never given him any indication that he wouldn’t be 100% understanding. Kid went to _Stanford_ , for Christ’s sake. They’re supposed to be all liberal and bleeding heart at colleges, aren’t they? If anything, Sam’d probably be thrilled.

Maybe that’s what’s so disappointing about all this. Because Sam isn’t mad, but he isn’t happy either. He’s just… blank. Unphased, indifferent. Hell, Dean could probably drop to his knees and suck Cas off right here and now and Sam wouldn’t bat an eye. It’s not the reaction he’d imagined, and it leaves him feeling… kinda sad. But hey. Maybe he’ll get another shot at it when Sam’s actually _Sam_ again. Maybe it’ll even go better.

He hopes so, he really does. For now he guesses it’s just enough that nobody stormed out, nobody got disowned, and nobody’s sporting any fresh black eyes. For an emotion based discussion involving two Winchesters, that’s a pretty good result.

It certainly went a lot better than when John found out, anyway.

*

Indifference or no, Sam evidently isn’t 100% comfortable around people yet – or at least, he isn’t when nobody’s hunting or dying – so he awkwardly retreats to Gabriel’s room for the rest of the day, which is totally fine by Dean. Cas has to go back to work at the bookshop, and after Gabe makes them sandwiches Dean agrees to come with. Okay, he doesn’t _agree_ to come with. He _insists_ on it, because right now being away from Cas for even a second would be the worst thing ever, and Dean’s not sure he can take it. And besides, he kinda likes the bookshop. He likes watching Cas sit behind the desk and price books. He likes it when Cas asks him to stock and tidy a few shelves or lift a few piles of paperbacks. He likes _being_ with Cas, likes that he can do it without the end of the world looming over them. He’s still a little shaken up by his ten year detour, reacts in surprise when he lifts something and doesn’t hear the pop and crackle of his knees, or when he goes to grip his shoulder and finds that there’s no pain there, just a handprint. Huh. He thought _that_ disappeared when Cas healed him after –

Except it wasn’t _Cas_ that healed him, not in this reality. It was Gabe, and Gabe must have thought the handprint was worth saving. _Awesome_. Dean runs his fingers over the edges of the handprint with a fond smile. He probably shouldn’t have missed it, but he really, really did. But also, he didn’t. Because in this reality he’s had it this whole time. God, this shit’s confusing. He’s not sure he’ll ever get his head around it.

‘If it helps,’ Cas says, ‘I missed it too.’

Dean straightens up, embarrassed at having been caught, and quickly goes back to stacking Mills and Boon paperbacks on a low shelf.

‘Oh yeah?’ He asks, voice gruffer than he intended. Cas nods.

‘Who doesn’t like seeing their boyfriend marked up?’ He asks, and the words send a shiver down Dean’s spine.

‘Boyfriend, huh?’

Cas shrugs, ‘If you want to be, yes. There is currently an opening for the position.’

He has this kind of smug, coy look on his face, and it takes Dean a second to realise the guy might just be flirting. Which is… new. But not unwelcome. _Definitely_ not unwelcome. How the hell did he get so lucky?

‘Not anymore there isn’t,’ Dean growls. He crosses over to the desk, leans forward and catches Cas’s mouth with his. God, he’s never gonna get sick of this. He’s not sure how he can be expected to get anything else _done_. Maybe… maybe they should just go to bed for like a week. Or a month. Or a few years.

Cas breaks the kiss, grinning from ear to ear, and gently pushes Dean back towards the shelves.

‘I’ve got work to do. Don’t distract me.’

‘You’re the boss,’ Dean smirks, and goes back to stacking paperbacks. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him, and that does all sorts of things to his insides.

‘So how’d you and Gabe end up working here, anyway?’ Dean asks.

‘We came in looking for a book Gabe wanted. The shop had a minor poltergeist problem, so we helped. When Sara found out that we were homeless, and found out what Gabe was doing for money, she gave us jobs and leased us the apartment upstairs. She was only using it as a storage facility, anyway. I think she was happy to see it go to good use.’

‘What was Gabe doing for money?’ Dean starts reorganising a high shelf without being asked, finding that he enjoys the work.

‘He _wanted_ to try turning tricks at truck stops.’

Dean freezes. A few books slip out of his grasp and clatter to the floor.

‘And uh… did he?’

‘No. He was adamant about it, but I’ve… I’ve become very good at utilising my influence as his little brother.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I cried until he backed down.’

Dean grimaces, vaguely remembering that Sam used to do the same thing right up until he was like, twelve. ‘That’s cold.’

‘And humiliating,’ Cas agrees, ‘He forced my hand, though. Ultimately, we agreed that we would not follow the Winchester way of doing things.’

‘…You know about that?’ Dean whispers. There’s a paperback in his hands, he’s not sure what it is, and it’s about to get ripped to shreds from how violently Dean’s twisting it.

‘Of course,’ Cas replies, ‘I’ve always known, Dean. I rebuilt you after raising you from hell, remember?’

‘…Does it bother you?’

‘I’m sorry that you had to do it, but I don’t think less of you. Frankly, I think you’re very brave. I’m not sure I could have done it, although I did offer. I’ve never had sex without some kind of love being involved. Or at the very least, some kind of attraction.’

‘Yeah, well. Doesn’t always work like that where turning tricks is concerned.’

Dean thinks about some of the guys he had to go with in those days and shudders. More often than not, if a guy’s paying for sex out of a truck stop bathroom, it’s probably because he can’t get it anywhere else.

‘Still, we needed money, and at the time utilising Gabe’s grace was likely to get us killed. Even now it’s risky, though the danger has ebbed somewhat. With turning tricks off the table, he found work as a stripper instead. I think he enjoyed it, honestly.’

‘…I really didn't need that image in my head, Cas.’

‘Apologies. Regardless, Sara gave us jobs when there were few other avenues of employment available. We were very grateful. Especially since, at the time, I was quite ill. Travelling from place to place, sleeping in motels or in the back of the car, it wasn’t exactly conducive to the healing process.’

Dean frowns, ‘…How ill were you, exactly?’

‘…I don’t want to talk about that, Dean. Please don’t push the issue.’

Dean wants to, god he _wants_ to so badly. But Cas is fine now, and Dean just got him back, and they have time. For once, they actually have so much fucking _time_. So Dean drops it. He goes back to sorting books with a slight tremor in his hands, and a comfortable silence dominates. Briefly.

‘Uh, Cas? Sam doesn’t… doesn’t actually know what I used to do. For money.’ It seems stupid, especially now that his brother’s soulless and definitely doesn’t care, but _still_. Dean can’t – he’s taken so much from the kid over the years. He’s not sure he can stomach it, if Sam finds out that more often than not, their dad forgot to leave them any money. Sam has enough to hate the old man for, enough of a shitty, loveless childhood, without putting that on him, too.

Cas nods, ‘Gabe and I suspected as much. Don’t worry, we won’t mention it to him.’

‘…Gabe knows too?’

‘Of course. Where do you think he got the idea? Gabriel may put up a front around you, Dean, but in truth I think he idolises you. When it comes to looking after me, he usually looks to how you are with Sam.’

_Huh_. Dean wonders how best to process that level of flattery from an archangel. He also wonders if it’s possible for his day – which has somehow lasted over a decade – to get any weirder. He doubts it.

*

The night progresses without much input from Sam, and at first Dean thought spending the evening with Gabe and Cas might be a little… awkward. He’s wrong, and although he suspects the copious pot smoking might have something to do with it, it’s more than that. Cas is great, obviously, and Dean would be more than happy to be alone with him forever, but Gabe comes as the real surprise because not only is he _fun_ , and not an asshole (mostly), but he’s also… actually a pretty nice guy. And as they huddle around the coffee table, smoking dope and eating pizza and providing a running commentary of Law and Order, Dean decides he actually does kinda _like_ the archangel, just a little. He might even like it if they became friends. Spooky.

And then it’s time to call it a night, and Cas leads Dean off to his bedroom, and all notions of Gabriel and Dean being something close to friends fly out the window when Gabe stops them at the door.

‘Okay,’ he says, and folds his arms over his chest, ‘Here’s the deal. Walls in this place are pretty thin, so if you could gimme a chance to put my headphones on before you start bumpin’ uglies, I’d really appreciate it. I want safe, sane, consensual sex on both sides. Open communication, respecting each other’s boundaries, all that good stuff. Also, you’re both human now, and you’ve both been around the block a few times, so wrap it up. You need condoms?’

‘What makes you think we’re going to have sex?’ Cas asks, and if Gabriel raises his eyebrows any higher, they’re gonna fly right off his forehead.

‘12 years of sexual tension, plus Dean Winchester, plus – by some miracle – the horniest angel in the Garrison? Yeah, nice try. So I’ll ask you again; do you have condoms?’

Dean thinks he might just cease to exist if this conversation goes any further, but Cas has a kind of exasperated look on his face, like this conversation might be a regular occurrence. Scary thought. Or, it would be, but then Dean remembers having an eerily similar conversation with a seventeen year old Sam and his then-girlfriend (Clara? Kara?) before leaving the motel room for a diner down the road. So, again, Dean gets it. But it’s still horrific.

‘I still have condoms,’ Cas replies.

‘Lube?’

‘ _Gabriel_.’

‘Answer the question.’

‘ _Yes_ , I have lubricant.’

‘Cool. No freaky shit for your first time, okay? I don’t want you doing anything that warrants a safe word. I don’t want a repeat of The Incident, because I really don’t feel like driving anybody down to the ER tonight. We clear?’

‘Crystal,’ Dean replies, ‘Can we go now?’

‘Sure. Go for your life.’ Gabriel winks and saunters off towards his own room, leaving Cas and Dean to glance at each other with matching expressions of embarrassment.

‘…Do I want to know what The Incident was?’ Dean asks.

‘Daniel’s back seized up during a… very ambitious sex position. Gabriel had to separate us and take him to the hospital.’

‘…Awkward.’

‘Not my finest moment,’ Cas concedes, ‘Are you coming in?’

Dean grins, ‘Hell yes.’


	12. Feels Like The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! This chapter is just straight Destiel, nothing else. I literally have nothing else to say about it lmao.

Cas’s room is awesome. Dean spent a little time in it the night before, of course, before he ended up holding hands with Cas in the kitchen, but it was mostly dark and he didn’t take notice much. Now though, while Cas shuts and locks the door and kicks some of his stuff out of the way, Dean can _really_ appreciate it.

It reeks of pot, of course, but that’s to be expected. The walls are painted a dark teal kind of colour, and although they’re plastered with fewer posters than the living room, there’s still plenty to look at. He’s got a poster of Jimi Hendrix on the far wall that’s pretty fucking cool, and a pinboard covered in poems that look like they were ripped straight out of their respective books. Speaking of books, there’s lot of them. And some of it is the fancy shit Dean expected – Dante and Virgil and James Joyce, stuff like that – but there’s plenty of stuff Dean can understand too. Battered copies of _Dune_ and _Goldfinger_ and –

‘Cujo?’ Dean holds up the book for Cas’s inspection, but Cas only shrugs.

‘I liked it.’

But the main feature of the room is the sound system. Forget just a turntable, Cas is fully kitted out with Dolby Digital sound. Floor speakers, tape deck, the works. Dean lets out a low whistle.

‘You weren’t kidding about the sizeable record collection huh?’

Four milk crates, all chocked full with records, are stacked against the far wall. Cas grins.

‘I missed you,’ he explains, ‘Music helped.’

God, if that isn’t the cutest shit. Dean holds his hand out.

‘C’mere,’ he mumbles, and pulls Cas over to the bed. It feels good to be kissing him again, even though it really hasn’t been that long since they last made out. Dean suspects that from now on, every minute spent _not_ kissing Cas is gonna feel like wasted time. He’s okay with that in theory, but right now it feels like they’ve both spent way too much time… well. _Wasting_ time. He intends to make up for it, at least a little. Cas doesn’t seem to have any objections.

They fall into bed, all teeth and tongues and tangled limbs, roll on their sides and run their hands through each other’s hair. It’s great, god, it’s so fucking _awesome_ , and it’s even better knowing that they don’t have to stop there. This isn’t a public place, they’ve got plenty of time, and nobody’s gonna interrupt. They can do as much as they want. It’s a novel idea, and not something Dean’s used to. The idea of having _time_ , of being able to _take_ time, is kind of overwhelming if he thinks about it too hard. There’s too much stuff he wants to do, try, see, touch, he’s not sure where to start. He focuses on kissing Cas instead, because Cas seems to have it covered. Vaguely, it occurs to Dean that Cas may well be the more experienced one in this situation which is… all kinds of bizarre.

‘Wait,’ Cas mutters suddenly, and Dean stills immediately, because that’s what you do when someone says wait. Cas smirks.

‘Very respectful. Good to know.’ He gets up and stretches until his back cracks, then strides over to the hi-fi and thumbs through his records. Dean watches with interest, trying to undress Cas with his eyes while he waits for the main event, and wonders if the angel should really be allowed to pick the music.

Then Cas puts on Foreigner, and Dean is equal parts amused and relieved.

‘ _Really_ , Cas?’

‘What? Does it not feel like the first time?’

Dean snorts, shakes his head in disbelief. ‘Get over here.’

Cas is all too eager to oblige, and the first thing to go is his tie dyed Fleetwood Mac abomination (is _every_ shirt the guy owns fucking tie dyed?) which earns a hum of appreciation from Dean, especially when Cas climbs back onto the bed and straddles him, looking at Dean like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Dean traces his fingers over Cas’s tattoos, equal parts envious and turned on, and tries to memorise every line, every sketch. It’s a mismatch, really, more like a whole bunch of different things thrown together to form something resembling a set of sleeves. There’s warding sigils and protection symbols and what looks like Latin, but also sketchy drawings of flowers, bees, snippets of song lyrics and book quotes. It’s gorgeous, Cas is gorgeous, and once again, Dean’s lost the ability to speak. He falls back onto the pillows instead and allows Cas to attack his neck, still running his hands all over those tattoos. He takes a second to look up at the ceiling, pauses, then actually laughs out loud.

‘What?’ Cas asks. Dean wheezes with laughter.

‘There’s a picture of Captain Kirk on your ceiling.’

Technically, it’s a picture of William Shatner, but the point still stands.

‘I know there is. It’s _my_ ceiling.’

‘Cas, why – why is there a picture of Captain Kirk on your fucking ceiling?’

Cas scowls against Dean’s throat. ‘Why do you _think_ , Dean?’

Oh. _Oh_. The horny son of a bitch!

‘…Well, that’s coming down effective immediately.’

Cas’s scowl turns into a grin, ‘You’re cute when you’re jealous.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ Cas tugs at the hem of Dean’s shirt, and Dean sits up to allow for easy removal, gasping just a little when he feels Cas’s hands on his bare chest.

‘Is this okay?’ Cas asks. Dean thinks the question is more than a little ridiculous, but he also suspects Cas might stop if Dean doesn’t say anything.

‘Yes, _Cas_ , God yes. Anything you wanna do is okay with me, _fuck_.’ He gasps again when Cas leans down and swipes his tongue across Dean’s anti-possession tattoo. God that’s _hot_. It’s not fair.

‘Anything?’ Cas asks.

‘ _Anything_ ,’ Dean agrees, sounding way needier than he’d like. His hands are already at Cas’s waistline, fumbling with the angel’s button fly because _of course_ Cas has a button fly, the fucking hippie. Cas smirks at Dean’s eagerness, but makes no move to assist.

‘Anal sex?’ He asks. Dean chokes.

‘Cas, man, you can’t just… _say_ shit like that.’

‘I apologise. But in my experience it’s better to be blunt under these circumstances. It helps to eliminate misunderstanding.’

Okay, yeah. True. That’s actually a really good point, but Dean can’t help but feel embarrassed. He’s still got hang-ups, maybe even more than he did _before_ Gabe zapped him into the future (ten years of silent pining’ll do that to a guy) and it’s a hell of a lot easier to just _do_ these things rather than sit around and talk about them.

‘…Fine. Yes, yeah. I want… I want that. Just don’t _say_ it like that, okay?’

Cas nods, ‘Alright. Would you like to top or bottom?’

‘…I don’t know.’ Dean admits, ‘I’ve uh… never actually _done_ this before.’

Technically not a hundred percent true, but Dean doesn’t wanna think about that right now. It’s the first time without money exchanging hands, anyhow, and the first time he won’t be drunk off his ass to do it.

‘You’re sure you want to? We don’t have to. We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want.’

‘No, no, I want. I just…’ Great. Thirty-one years old and he’s stuttering like a fucking virgin. ‘I’m just uh… new.’

‘That’s alright, I’ll bottom. In my experience, it’s easier to top the first time.’

‘…Okay.’

Cas stands up then, and shucks off his jeans with a level of expertise that Dean can’t decide if he wants to think about or not.

‘You’ll want to remove your pants too,’ Cas says pointedly. Right, yeah. That’s a very, very good idea. Dean lifts his hips up off the bed and struggles with his pants while Cas rummages around in a drawer – dressed in nothing but boxers – for condoms and lube and whatever else people use when they’re… when they’re doing… _this_.

Cas has a tattoo on his back, down low by his left hip. It’s small, barely visible above the waistband of his boxers. A scrap of writing Dean feels like he can recognise, but can’t quite make out. So when Cas makes his way back to bed with a coy smile and all the necessary supplies, Dean pulls him close and slips under the angel’s arm, pulls down his boxers just a little, just for a better look and –

_Oh._

‘…Cas? Why is my name tattooed on your ass?’

‘Ah. I forgot about that.’ Cas lets out a low, embarrassed chuckle, tosses the lube and condoms to one side. He makes to shift positions, probably so they can look each other in the face while they talk, but nope. No way, Dean’s not finished here. He keeps Cas where he is and runs the pad of his thumb over the ink, which looks like it’s been printed in that old typewriter font. Yeah, that’s his name alright. Clear as day.

_Dean Winchester_

‘…Technically,’ Cas starts, ‘It’s _above_ my ass. Not on it.’

‘Uh huh.’ Dean’s still tracing the outline with his thumb, stuck somewhere between awestruck and amused.

‘I was drunk,’ Cas continues, ‘…Very drunk. On a bender, actually, with some of my hunter friends? It was an impulsive decision. I missed you.’

‘No kidding.’

‘My boyfriend at the time – ’

‘Daniel?’

‘No, the one before him, wasn’t very amused.’

Dean snorts, ‘I bet he wasn’t.’

‘Neither was Gabriel.’ He pauses, ‘Daniel wasn’t either, actually, once he discovered it. I have a terrible habit of neglecting to mention it to potential partners.’

‘Any regrets?’ Dean asks, and he means for it to sound like a tease, but it definitely comes out a little more desperate than intended.

‘None what so ever,’ Cas replies, and drops a quick kiss onto Dean’s temple, ‘I don’t tend to regret tattoos as a general rule, but that one happens to be one of my favourites.’

‘Yeah,’ Dean croaks, ‘Mine too.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Wait till you see the William Shatner tattoo on my – ’

Dean covers Cas’s mouth with one slightly trembling hand, but Cas is already shaking with barely repressed laughter. It’s a good look on him. Dean can’t remember ever having seen Cas really _laugh_ before, and he thinks that’s a painfully apt representation of their lives – one that was in dire need of correcting.

But Dean still has objections. ‘Not funny,’ he says, even though he’s smiling as he takes his hand away from Cas’s mouth.

‘It’s a little funny,’ Cas replies, ‘…Can we get back to business or not?’

Of course they can. And they absolutely do. With gusto.

_Twice_.

*

‘…Do you miss it?’ Dean asks.

Cas is running his fingers across Dean’s chest, tracing the edges of his anti-possession tattoo. Cas, Dean noticed, has the same tattoo on his right wrist, over his pulse point.

‘I miss lots of things,’ Cas replies, ‘And most of them haven’t happened yet. You’ll have to be more specific.’

He shifts his weight ever-so-slightly, so that his head is resting a little more comfortably in the crook of Dean’s armpit. He has one leg slung over Dean’s hip, and Dean likes it a hell of a lot more than he thinks he should.

‘Being an angel,’ Dean clarifies, and Cas hums, fingers still tracing over faded edges.

‘Yes. Occupying a vessel is confining enough as it is, but becoming human meant forcibly cramming – for want of a better word – my entire being into this space. It can be very… suffocating. And then there’s the loss of powers, the disconnect from angel radio, the feeling of being… relatively useless.’

‘You’re not useless,’ Dean objects, but Cas only offers a one-shouldered shrug.

‘You asked, I answered. It’s just how I feel, Dean.’

‘ _I_ don’t think you’re useless,’ Dean clarifies, and one hand makes its way down to rest on Cas’s hip as he speaks, ‘Turns out you have a uh… a lot of uses that I hadn’t considered.’

Which, okay, is a lie. He’s considered those kinds of uses _plenty_ of times, in all manner of settings and positions. Cas makes a face that indicates he 100% isn’t buying the bullshit Dean’s selling. Dean clears his throat.

‘So uh, what’s so _confining_ about being in a vessel?’

‘As you know, my true form is – was – the size of the Chrysler Building. As an angel, a vessel can’t possibly contain all that. It acts more like a costume…’ He frowns, like he’s searching for the right term, ‘Are you familiar with finger puppets?’

Dean makes a sound that’s halfway between a snort of laughter and a surprised choke.

‘You’ve been wearing Jimmy Novak like a _finger puppet_? And what, the rest of you is just… standing behind him?’

‘Yes.’

‘…So when you fight other angels – ’

‘It strongly resembles two children making their G.I. Joe’s fight each other? Yes.’

‘ _Jesus.’_

‘No, he was a Nephilim. That works a little differently.’

‘So all this time, a giant cosmic being has been following me around, waving a dead guy on his finger like a puppet?’

Cas wrinkles his nose at the analogy. ‘Well, Jimmy wasn’t _dead_ to start with.’

‘…Did I just have sex with a finger puppet?’

‘Would it matter?’

‘No,’ Dean replies, because surprisingly this whole puppet thing bothers him a hell of a lot less than he thought it would. Cas seems to relax at this, resting his cheek against Dean’s chest.

‘You didn’t, incidentally. Like I said, the transition to humanity means that the entirety of my being has been forcefully enclosed in my vessel. Frankly, I would be more concerned that Jimmy _is_ dead, and therefore in the technical sense, you did just have sex with a corpse.’

‘…I’d really rather not unpack all that, Cas,’ Dean says, because he’s already got angel-fucking and monster-fucking (if we’re counting future things that haven’t happened yet) under his belt, and he doesn’t particularly want to add necrophilia to the mix, as well. 

‘Does it… is it painful? Being crammed into a vessel like that?’

Cas nods, ‘Sometimes. It comes and goes, and I have good days and bad days. Smoking helps.’

Dean grins, but it’s forced. He hates the idea of Cas being in any kind of pain. ‘Castiel, Angel turned stoner.’

Cas returns the smile. It looks a lot warmer than Dean’s. ‘I understand it might be uncomfortable to you. A little too… familiar, to what Zachariah showed you.’

‘You knew about that?’

‘Not the specifics, but Gabe witnessed some of it at the time. He filled me in.’

Dean hesitates, trying to find the right words. ‘…That’s when I realised. I mean, I already loved you by then. But, that was when I _knew.’_

‘That’s a long time,’ Cas breathes. 

‘It is. I hated what I saw over there. I was so… I treated you like dirt, man.’

‘I’m sure I didn’t mind.’

‘Yeah, but maybe you should have. I… I just let you _die_ , Cas. Like it was nothing. Like it, like you didn’t even matter. I swore when I came back it wouldn’t be like that. That I wouldn’t be like that. And then… then I kinda was.’

‘Dean…’

‘Cas, I - ‘ he hesitates, trying to put it all together. He’s not good at this, at talking about feelings, but he _has_ to. He just has to. ‘I wanna do things right this time. I wanna do right by you. This can’t be a one-time thing for me. Or even a “let’s see where this goes” type of thing. This - this has to be it. I can’t lose you, okay? Not again, I won’t take it. And I don’t wanna scare you off or rush you or pressure you into something serious. But I… yeah. You’re it for me, Cas. I always knew you would be. Maybe that’s why I waited so long.’

Cas smiles, warm and wide and wanting. His hand comes up to cup Dean’s cheek, and he presses kisses to his jawline with a sigh.

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he whispers. Dean falls back into the pillows with a huff of relief. 

‘Thank _god_.’

‘Oh, let’s not bring _him_ into it.’ They both share a relaxed moment of laughter, ‘And as for _rushing_ me into anything, Dean, I’ve loved you from the moment I pulled you out of hell. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I did. I loved you then, and I’ve loved you ever since, and I’ve loved you ten years into the future. I won’t ever love anyone else. There’s only you.’ 

Dean wants to say something to that, maybe make some witty comment, but nothing comes to mind. It’s fine - Cas has it covered.

‘Besides, I’ve had your dick in my mouth and up my ass, not to mention your _name_ is permanently inscribed on my skin. There’s no coming back from that - you’ve more or less ruined me for anyone else.’

Dean smirks, ‘That good, huh?’

‘Best I’ve ever had,’ Cas says honestly, ‘And the nicest cock I’ve ever seen, by a long shot.’

Dean’s not sure that he’ll ever recover from all the swearing. His face hurts from grinning so hard.

‘Seen a lotta cocks, have you?’

‘Oh, hundreds.’ Cas replies.

‘You’re tryna make me jealous.’

‘Yes. Is it working?’ 

‘Not really. I’ve ruined you for everyone else, remember?’

‘I said more or less,’ Cas says, ‘I’m operating under the assumption of plausibility. Of course, if _William Shatner_ turns up on my doorstep, I may have to rethink my statement.’ 

Dean pokes him in the ribs, eliciting a surprised laugh that he’ll _definitely_ have to investigate further later. ‘Don’t be an ass.’ 

‘Well, I could try, but that might make me a better person, and that is _not_ the man you fell in love with.’ 

‘Okay, you got me there.’ Dean laughs, ‘...I do love you, you know.’

‘Oh, I know. I have the hickeys to prove it.’ 

‘I’m serious, Cas. Things have to be different this time, okay? No more being stupid. If I love you and you love me - ‘

‘Are you quoting Barney at me?’

‘I - you know Barney?’

‘Have you ever been stoned at two in the afternoon? There’s nothing else on television, I can assure you.’ 

Dean blinks, unsure of how to respond to that image. ‘...Anyway. We can’t… there can’t be any more of this self-sacrificing bullshit. And we can’t just, you know, get mad and storm off and not talk to each other for weeks. It’s gotta be different. We have to… we have to actually _talk_ about things. Work together.’

‘…Who are you and what have you done with Dean Winchester?’

_‘Cas.’_

‘Alright, alright. I agree with you, incidentally. I’m just surprised, that’s all.’

And hell, Dean can’t blame the guy for that.

‘…So,’ he ventures, ‘…What now?’

‘We’ll sort out the issue with Sam’s soul, and then go from there.’ And God, Cas makes it all sound so easy, ‘We’ll take it as it comes. I don’t mind, as long as we’re together.’ 

‘And as long as there’s weed.’ Dean adds.

‘And as long as there’s weed, yes.’ 

Dean smiles. He feels a hell of a lot lighter than he did earlier, a lot more relaxed than he’s felt in a long time. Again, he’s got Cas - the rest really is just details, ones that can be worked out at a later time. Maybe it really is as easy as Cas makes it sound.

‘When are you working next?’ Dean asks.

‘Tomorrow. Why?’

‘Can I come with you? Help you out?’

‘Whatever you want, Dean.’ Cas yawns, ‘You can do whatever you want.’ 

_Whatever I want_. That’s never been a viable option before, but Dean thinks he kinda likes the sound of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading guys! Hopefully updates will be semi-regular, but I'm also working two jobs and studying full time, so I may be a little late from time to time. Also, if some portions of the story sound like Tumblr text posts, incorrect quotes, etc. they probably are. I absorb things like a sponge for later use and then forget where they came from. In that same vein, all the ideas about Gabriel raising fledgling Castiel came from allthebeautifulthings9828's fic "Cas, You Had A Baby?" Which is literally one of the best fics ever and super duper cute!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr if you want, I'm super nice and I love questions and talking to people and stuff. I'm @theevilesteviled if you feel the need!


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